


Next of Kin

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/F - Category, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:30:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair are there for one another when David Lash comes back to haunt them, but find it difficult to offer the same support in the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next of Kin

## Next of Kin

by Lily

Author's website:  <http://www.geocities.com/lilyisawake/index.html>

Not mine, don't sue.

* * *

Jim tried to complete the last four boxes of the form requesting more pens which should've been turned in over a week ago. Even as he wrote, the pen faded and threatened to die. Between curses and shaking the pen; the last of his allotted amount, and to be honest, the last of Blair's allotted amount, too, because Jim was willing to bet that there were at least fifty black pens at the loft, he glanced over at Blair, who seemed to be getting even less work done than Jim. 

"Chief?" 

"Huh? Sorry, Jim. Just spaced out for a minute." Blair shuffled his tennis shoes and rubbed his face, trying to get more into the moment, but it just wasn't happening. 

Jim put down his now-defunct pen, leaning back to look at Blair. "Is something wrong?" Something _felt_ wrong, but he didn't want to say anything to his pensive friend. 

After a long silence, Blair finally said, "It's nothing, I guess I'm just tired." 

"Yeah." For a second, Jim had thought that Blair was about to mention the same feeling that had been stalking him all day. The feeling that kept compelling him to look over his shoulder anxiously. Just because he didn't mention it didn't mean that it didn't exist, though, and Jim made a note to ask him about it later. 

After another hour, nothing had gotten accomplished and neither man could keep their attention on anything but the edginess of the other, so Blair announced that the walls were closing in. They left the station thirty minutes before usual quitting time, but felt none of the usual victorious rush of freedom that scamming usually brought. 

"I have this bad feeling, Jim," he announced as he walked through the door. 

Jim nodded. "I know. Me too." 

Blair nearly gave himself whiplash from turning back so quickly. "What? What do you think it is?" 

A shrug. "Just...like something's...out there." He opened the refrigerator and tried to deflect Blair's attention by sticking his head inside. "It's probably nothing, maybe a storm's coming in." But he knew that wasn't it. 

Blair shot him a doubtful look. "Yeah, that would explain your edginess but what about _me_? I haven't been able to concentrate on anything since yesterday, and don't you think it's strange that we're both experiencing the same thing?" He paced the perimeter of the living room muttering to himself, nearly jumping out of his skin when his cellphone went off. "Shit!" 

"Calm down, Sandburg." Jim felt obligated to offer out placations, but the truth was that the air was charged with a dark energy and he couldn't bring himself to sit down either. 

His tightly wound partner went off to his bedroom with the phone and closed the door tightly in silent request for privacy. Jim relaxed, thinking that the tension in the room might ease a bit. 

It didn't. 

He obsessively checked the windows and the door, then got a beer to distract himself. He hadn't told Blair, but this sensation had been lurking around for a good while now...a week, almost. But now that Blair had picked up the negative vibe, he couldn't ignore it. Maybe he should call Sylvie, get out of the loft for a while. After all, that was what girlfriends were for... 

But it didn't seem like a good idea to leave the loft right now, so going to Sylvie's was out. 

With nothing else to do, he opened up the paperwork that he'd brought from work and spread them out on the table. After the first two forms, he made a small mistake but couldn't find the whiteout. 

He knocked twice on Blair's door and when there wasn't an answer, opened it. "Sandburg, do you have the-" his question fell away when he caught sight of his partner lying face down on his bed. 

His first hysterical reaction was _Dead! He's dead and that bad feeling was a warning!_ but corpses didn't shake and shudder with sobs, and they didn't emit such terrible moans like the ones coming from Blair. Jim stood frozen for a second, reluctant to approach such grief, but this was Blair and when a particularly heartbreaking muffled sound came from the pillow, he couldn't keep away. 

He sat on the bed and touched Blair's back, said his name repeatedly with no response but to cry, coughing and shaking, hands clutching the bedding like a lifeline. 

Even though it felt odd and strangely forbidden, Jim reached out hesitantly- touched a stray curl on the back of Blair's neck and then when nothing happened, stroked it. Carefully he smoothed another, then graduated to petting his partner's wild hair soothingly, over and over. He raked the locks away from hot, damp temples with his fingers, the only part of Blair's face that he had access to, and stroked that tender flesh with his knuckles. It still felt weird...not _safe_ exactly in it's intimacy, but what was he supposed to do, leave his roommate alone at a time like this because he didn't know the proper rules of manly comfort? Blair knew all kinds of things about rules like that, written and unwritten, but Blair wasn't exactly with him at the moment, which Jim found strangely...frightening. 

For nearly twenty minutes Blair cried quietly into his pillow, oblivious to everything but his pain. After that he lay there for a while, then rolled sluggishly onto his side. Jim had abandoned his attempts at comfort in favor of patient waiting. Blair blinked and sucked in his lower lip when he saw Jim. 

"Hey. You're scaring me here, Chief." Jim gave him a shaky, expectant smile. Encouraging him. 

The watery blue eyes hurt him so much that it was almost a relief when they closed again, except that apparently sight was traded in favor of speech and what Jim heard hurt even more- a whispered, 

" _Mom_." 

There was nothing else to say for either of them, and when Jim found Blair looking at him with questions in his eyes, he saw the plea for what it was and pulled his Guide closely, smoothing down the unruly hair again with slow stroking motions until the grieving man drifted off. 

* * *

"Want some milk for your tea?" Jim hurried to the table with the creamer so that Blair wouldn't have to get up. He knew that he was acting like some kind of housewife on crack, but couldn't stop himself. 

"Thanks." Blair's throat sounded scratchy and Jim paused. 

"Your throat sounds a little rough, maybe some honey instead?" He headed back to the cabinet. "Or both." 

Blair didn't say anything, so Jim brought them both to the table and sat down. After Blair had awakened, he'd told Jim about the phone call. Naomi's body had been found in Cincinnati, which made no sense because as far as Blair had known, she'd been living in Paris for the past couple of months. With someone special, she'd been hinting to Blair during their most recent phone conversation. 

Definitely foul play, the detective who'd called had said, and wanted to know when Blair could come make the arrangements for the body...which had been discovered several weeks _after_ the murder, a point that he'd stressed in order to prepare Blair. He also advised Blair that they had no leads and no prospects in finding her killer. 

And Blair had given Jim all of the facts so calmly, with no trace of the earlier loss of control. He just listened and nodded, having no idea how to offer comfort to someone who's just lost the most important person in their life. 

"I'll call Simon." That was the best thing he could think of, and Blair didn't argue so he called and explained what had happened, requesting two weeks of leave for both of them. Blair didn't argue about Jim asking the two weeks for himself, for which he was grateful. His next call was to purchase two round-trip tickets to Cincinnati. ' 

"What about Sylvie?" 

"Last I checked, I didn't have to call in for permission from anyone but Simon. Do you want to leave now or in the morning?" Jim asked, holding his hand over the mouthpiece. If it were _his_ mother, he wouldn't want to waste a night that would end up being sleepless anyhow. 

"Now, if you don't mind," Blair replied, stirring his tea miserably, then softly added, "...not that it matters." He pushed away from the table and disappeared into his room. 

By the time Jim had finished his own packing and made some more phone calls, Blair was sitting listlessly on the couch, waiting with his hands lying in his lap. One worn, bulging suitcase sat at his feet with the same degree of patience that Blair portrayed. 

"You been waiting long?" It took a lot more than Jim had anticipated to sound upbeat, normal, but it was necessary for his partner's sake. "We'd better get going, got everything?" They were questions that weren't really expecting answers, but idle talk to fill the time, and Jim continued with the trivialities all the way to the airport and through their flight. 

* * *

"Wow. Jim, are you sure we can afford this?" Blair threw down his bag and surveyed their Cincinnati hotel room. He rubbed dry puffy eyes in an attempt to keep them open, then launched himself at one of the luxurious double beds. The comforter wasn't one of those polyester-feeling motel bedspreads. He sank into the soft thick cotton material, stretching his arms and legs. "I've got to rest for a few minutes," he moaned to Jim, who was checking the bathroom and closet for- what, snipers? Blair shook his head with a tiny smile, then finished- "then I'll be ready to go..." 

The "few minutes" turned out to be closer to four hours, but both men needed the rest. Jim awakened feeling better and a shower in the gleaming white bathroom left him completely refreshed. Emerging from the bathroom in the wake of almond scented steam, he went to rouse Blair. 

His partner lay sprawled on the bed messily, lax face mashed into the pillow in a position that appeared to be uncomfortable, but he slept soundly. Knowing that he'd be bringing his sleeping friend from a carefree oblivion into the pain of reality, Jim paused. But they needed to get this over with, so with a gentle touch he shook the nearest shoulder. 

Eyes of the deepest blue blinked twice, then opened, settling on Jim. "Hi," he said flatly, then got up and walked to the bathroom and shut the door. Jim listened to the water running, trying to decide what to say when Blair came back out. 

_Blair, I'm sorry about your mom._

Very weak, Ellison. 

_We'll find whoever did this!_

Does a man even care about vengeance when his mother is dead? 

_Want some coffee?_

Riiiiight. 

_I love you._

The unbidden thought startled Jim right out of his inner debate. Although it was true, and a good thing to say if he were some sort of talk show host or relationship guru, he _wasn't_ one, he was a cop and so when Blair finally opened the bathroom door, he ended up blurting, 

"Don't forget to set your watch forward." 

"Okay." Blair clutched the towel together with one hand at his waist while he got his clothes together and Jim watched the trail he scattered as he moved-- tiny raindrops falling from wet, clean hair. He took a look at the city through their panorama window while Blair finished getting ready, zoning slightly on the tiny print of a menu posted outside a restaurant two blocks down. When he turned back around, Blair was fully dressed, his hair dried and cascading loosely down around his shoulders. 

He smirked. "Get lost out there?" 

The Sentinel blushed, feeling like a kid caught doing something he shouldn't have been. "I was just-" At the last minute he opted for the truth, knowing that Blair would find it amusing. "-the Golden China Buffet has a seafood buffet tonight for eight-ninety nine. Thirty different kinds of delicious seafood dishes at a price you can afford," he recited from the menu. 

He'd been right, Blair did smile at this and even genuinely chuckled. "Oh, man my illusions are shattered. Forget protecting the tribe, you've found a much better use for those Senses. No buffet will be safe from the Sentinel of the Great City." 

"Laugh if you want, but you'll be thanking me tonight," he growled. 

The answering voice was a whisper. "I'm thanking you now." 

Blair's eyes had gone soft and dark, all traces of teasing gone. "I mean it. I didn't even have to ask you to come here; you just did. I...don't know if I could've done this alone. You've been a good friend to me, Jim." 

"You could've, but I'm glad you don't have to. You'd do the same for me." Jim squirmed a bit under the compliments. 

"It's just..." Blair sighed and lay back on the bed. If Jim thought that he was stalling; putting off the inevitable, he didn't say anything to Blair. 

"My whole life, Naomi was the one person that I felt _connected_ to. You know? And-" He swallowed hard. "Now she's gone and you're the only person left- the only one that I'm connected to." 

Jim was quiet for a long while, so long that Blair added, "I, uh, hope that's not too presumptuous or anything. I mean, it's kind of heavy I know, but I do think of you as family, Jim." 

"No, it's not that. It's fine." The truth was, he'd been touched by his partner's admission. Touched and completely bewildered to be here in this hotel room in an unfamiliar city, with Naomi dead and Blair saying these things that he'd always thought should remain unspoken between friends. Then again, Blair had always had a way of bucking Jim Ellison's carefully planned system. "I know what you mean, Chief. I didn't have anyone for a long time- to feel connected to. The first person was Incacha, I think. And then you." 

"What do you mean 'and then me'? What about Carolyn? Your dad, Stephen?" He sounded so utterly shocked that Jim had to laugh. 

"No. Just because someone is a blood relative doesn't automatically mean a connection. I wish it did, sometimes. Sorry to disappoint you." 

"I always thought that having a father and brother would mean..." 

"Well, it doesn't." He hadn't meant to snap, but his nerves were a little too raw for this particular topic. "Isn't it about time we got going?" 

* * *

The two men arrived back at the hotel six hours later with no answers and even less of a clue of where to go next. The police considered it an open case but weren't working on it any longer...she wasn't a local and the killer had painstakingly disposed of the body- Blair's face had gone pale when they'd said that- "disposed of the body", and Jim had brought him a cool drink from the water-cooler in a paper cup, which he sipped gratefully until he didn't feel like he was going to puke. 

"I don't know what to do." Blair stared forlornly out the hotel window over the river. No one could ever know the damage that the past two days had done to him. Casting a thoughtful glance Jim's way, he rethought his opinion. Perhaps Jim could understand what it was like, then, to lose someone. But _no_. Because Jim, as sad as it was, didn't have anyone in his life with soft sandalwood skin and eyes that could've been his own. Jim didn't have anyone with a pure and beautiful spirit, so Jim would never know the emptiness of knowing that he would never again be held in the arms that he had fit perfectly into since birth. 

That realization hit him like a punch in the gut, eliciting a choked gasp along with the jolt of pain. His clenched fists rubbed along the windowsill, taking comfort in the cool marble against his skin. He knew that someday the pain would fade, but at this moment it seemed impossible. And then there was the silent yet palpable presence of his partner standing behind him. 

"I'll never see her again," he whispered, horrified that he'd brought the thought out into the open. "I feel so _alone_ " 

"I know. But you're not." Again unsure of what to do, he touched Blair's shoulder and squeezed in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. 

"She hated me being a cop, you know." 

"I know." 

"She loved me..." It sounded more like a question than a statement, sending a surge of anger through Jim. 

"Of course she did! That was obvious to anyone who's seen you together. Sandburg...come sit down. I don't like talking to the back of your head." 

They sat among the sleep-tossed covers and watched television for a while. Room service brought some food, which Blair poked at mostly, eating a few token bites for Jim's sake. After a couple of sitcoms, Blair put his face in his hands and began taking deep breaths, his whole body moving with the effort. 

"What are you doing?" 

His face was red when he lifted it, his mouth and jaw set stubbornly. "Nothing, just." 

"Keeping it together?" 

"In a way this would be easier if I were alone. I could..." He bit down viciously on the emotion overflow, which also stopped his explanation. "You should be back home with Sylvie, having a good time. Not here in this..." he looked around the room with contempt. 

Jim scowled. "Don't be an idiot, Sandburg. This is the only place I would even consider being right now. And...you saw me when Danny died, and Incacha. You remember how I was, how much I grieved. Do you think I was holding back because of what you might think of me?" 

"No, but with you it was one big outburst and then it was over. Me, I feel like I'm just on the verge here all the time, with no end in sight. Pretty stupid, huh." 

"No." 

"Thanks." Blair was quiet for a while, and edged closer until Jim got the idea to slide a well-muscled arm around his waist, which seemed to be what he'd wanted. He suddenly remembered the days after Incacha had died, the way he'd lingered awkwardly around Blair in hopes of some physical contact. 

"Jim, I'm going to look through my mom's things now." 

Both if their gazes were automatically drawn to the large yellow envelope sitting on the dresser. The one that they'd been avoiding since Detective Keaton had looked from Jim, to Blair, then back to Jim again and placed it in Jim's hand. 

"Okay. Want me to get it for you?" 

Blair nodded and Jim retrieved the envelope quickly and brought it back to the bed. He hated seeing Blair's face like this, so broken, sullen and hurt. It wasn't supposed to be like this, Blair had always been his rock, the one who pulled him through any difficulties. 

Jim had never been very good at taking care of people, he hadn't protected Stephen from his father's games...hadn't really had the desire to, either. He hadn't ever had a clue how to take care of Carolyn when they'd been married, but there was something compelling about taking care of Blair. In a way, Blair was more of a brother than Stephen had ever been and more of a spouse than Carolyn had been. 

"Are you sure, Chief?" he asked, drowned out by the ripping sound of the envelope. In one swift motion, Blair dumped the contents onto the space between them on the bed. Pretty standard stuff, he supposed...a plane ticket, round trip- Paris to Cincinnati, a tube of lip gloss, some receipts, travelers checks, necklace...Blair reached down and plucked out the next item with shaking fingers. 

"Jim, is this what I think it is?" A ring, which he held up to the light, adorned with a large diamond solitaire. Clearly an engagement ring, and a little rummaging through the pile uncovered another ring- a plain wedding band. "Oh, nooo," he said, a dark, ironic chuckle bubbling up from his chest as he shook his head in disbelief. "No way. No _way!_ " he yelled the last statement of denial, pounding his fist on the bed. His mother's personal belongings bounced and scattered against the bedspread. 

Jim kept silent, waiting to see how far Blair would go with his outburst, knowing that sometimes people needed to be left alone. Yet he was ready to offer any needed boundaries or consolation. 

Up Blair went, pacing around the large hotel room. "Okay, so...Naomi was married. Married? But to who?" He paused and turned, panicked, to Jim, who watched him with apprehension from the same spot on the bed. "Oh my God. Maybe he doesn't even know that she's dead yet." 

"Settle down, Chief, let's think about this. Why wouldn't they have notified her husband? The detective today didn't say anything about any other family." 

"Well, Naomi's family has always been sort of...unofficial. Most of my 'aunts and uncles' were close friends or ex-lovers." 

"Is there anyone you can think of who would know about her life in Paris? She had to be staying somewhere, and Naomi isn't exactly a recluse." 

" _Wasn't_." Blair's correction dripped with bitterness. 

After a long pause in which he carefully weighed his partner's current state of mind and the course of their conversation, Jim cleared his throat and said, 

"She was a beautiful person, inside and out." Meant to soothe, it served only to inflame. 

"Then why would somebody kill her? Kill her and leave her...d-dead like that!?" Bright blue eyes blazed with a fire that made Jim think of Naomi's passion for Blair to distance himself from police work. 

"I don't know, but we can find out if that's what you want." 

"Of course it's what I want! Why are you so damned calm about this!? Can't you care just a _little_?" He hated raising his voice, hated being angry with Jim, but his partner was just _sitting_ there, not saying anything, not showing any kind of reaction- good or bad. 

"Blair..." He rubbed his face impatiently with his hands, then changed course and stood, joining Blair's pacing. Couldn't Blair tell what he was doing, that he wasn't _calm_ , but supportive and steady? "I do care. I guess I don't know what you need. I thought that I was being your...rock." He mumbled the last part sheepishly, and Blair squinted. 

"What? You were being what?" Blair blinked, unexpectedly pleased. 

"Shut up." 

"Ohhhhh. My _rock_. I didn't know. I thought you were just being, you know... _a_ rock." But for all Jim's teasing, Jim's admission touched him and forced him to, for the millionth time that day, choke back the lump in his throat. "How about we, uh, finish with this stuff?" 

The envelope wasn't very full, but there were still a few things that they hadn't looked at yet. Jim agreed and ran his hand over the pile, spreading out the contents. He frowned. Something seemed...off again, that same feeling from yesterday. 

Blair was examining a plastic ziplock bag of herbs, which he sniffed then sealed, chuckling softly. "She always had these with her." 

Jim laughed with his friend in memory of his mother. "Yeah, I remember the first time I met her. I thought she was pretty out there but the more I knew her, the more I could see you in her. Made it pretty hard to stay mad at her, too." 

"Yeah?" He was met with the surprisingly open, pleased blue of his friend's familiar eyes. Familiar but not familiar in their rare vulnerability and the pollution of grief. 

"Yeah," he replied warmly. "Guess I know where the old Sandburg charm comes from." 

Less shaky fingers reached into the pile and hooked around piece of fabric, which he pulled, thinking that it was something that she'd been wearing. The two men stared in shock at the dirty yellow ribbon wrapped around Blair's finger. 

"Put it down!" Jim yanked it away, sending it fluttering to the floor, where it lay despite their fervent wishes for it to have been a hallucination. 

Not a hallucination. 

"It's...it's not what we're thinking, Jim, he's _dead._ " Blair stammered, clutching Jim's solid arm. 

The yellow contrasted in an ugly way against the dark carpet, and Jim closed his eyes against the image. "I don't know." 

"Well, _know_!" Find out, you're the Sentinel. Sniff it, look at it, feel it, whatever. Are you telling me that you've forgotten Lash's scent?" 

Jim shook his head. He'd never heard Sandburg sound so terrified. 

"Do it!" Blair's shout echoed off the lonely hotel room walls. 

He didn't want to, but how could he explain it to Blair? He'd had enough of David Lash's scent to last him ten lifetimes, and now that he thought of it, he could identify the bad feeling that he'd had a few moments earlier. _Some_ sort of sense memory that had originated with that ribbon. He knew what he'd find, and didn't need to examine the evidence to be certain. But Blair needed the proof. 

He retrieved the ribbon, inhaling deeply while Blair watched breathlessly until Jim's face twisted in disgust and obscenities accompanied the subsequent coughing fit. "Fucking David Lash." 

"How could this have happened, Jim? You killed him, I _saw_ you kill him." The Sandburg brain was working a mile a minute and he didn't miss a beat- "You checked, right?" 

"I..." 

"Jim?" Blair knew that look, slightly trapped and guilty as hell. An 'I didn't sleep with her, I wasn't going to take the last donut, The light was still _yellow_ ' look. But why would he have it now? 

"Sandburg. It was...it all happened so fast. I shot him, and I shot him a _lot_. It was like I couldn't _stop_ shooting him. The only thing I could think about was getting to you and getting you home." 

"But was he dead?" 

"I shot him five times, Chief." 

"That's not an answer, Jim." 

"Of course he was! They took him to the morgue and..." He didn't bother finishing; Blair was smarter than that. 

"Come on, Jim, you know what I'm asking! Did you hear his heartbeat stop?" 

Jim looked down at the ribbon. What could he say? The truth was that at the time, all he'd been able to hear was the slowing rhythm of Blair's heart and the manic pounding of his own. The slower Blair's became, the quicker his own raced, worried that he wouldn't get there in time. David Lash had been merely an obstacle in the quest to Get Blair to Safety. "I don't know." He checked Blair before continuing, but he didn't seem irate or even all that angry. Just sad and confused, which he didn't deserve right now, not ever. "I was listening to you." 

"Okay." He seemed to accept that, although all the thoughts tearing through his mind didn't leave much room for argument. 

"Aunt Cookie." 

"Huh?" 

"My Aunt Cookie lives in Paris. If mom was there, they would've definitely gotten together." 

"Not your actual aunt, I suppose." 

"No. But when I was a kid, my mom said that if something happened to her, my aunt Cookie would be my guardian. I can call her. She might know. Yeah. So I'll-do that." 

Blair's stilted speech and dazed expression worried Jim. As though he were drifting away and detaching from the situation...but not in the healthy way necessary for dealing with the violence of police work. The light in his eyes was fading as he fell, and Jim wasn't certain how to catch him. But he did know how to catch criminals, and watching Blair fumble through his bag for his black address book, Jim vowed to do just that. David Lash would die again, and he would be the one to pull the trigger. 

It sounded like cruel justice, but the truth was that if Lash were to go through the court system, he would end up in a psychiatric wing of a prison, biding his time until his security status was inevitably downgraded. Then he'd be home free because cold blooded killer or not, David Lash possessed the mind of a genius. A sick, pathological genius. 

"Aunt Cookie, it's Blair." 

From his end, Jim could hear a woman's thrilled voice, going a mile a minute about how happy she was to hear from Blair. He let her speak for a few minutes and then interrupted. "Can you hold on a minute?" He put his hand over the mouthpiece and said, 

"Do you think you could go out of the room for a while?" No puppy dog eyes, no _please_ Jim, _please_ tone, just a flat request that was in fact an order. 

Trying not to show his aversion to the idea, Jim shrugged and grabbed his gun and wallet. "Whatever you want, Chief. Be back in a few." 

* * *

Despite how much he wanted to stick close to his hurting partner, Jim stayed away a good while and it was dark when he returned to the room. Blair, for some reason, hadn't turned on any lamps and only the lights of the city outside illuminated the room. 

"Blair?" He put his keys down and toed off his shoes. 

A long sigh. "I'm okay, Jim. It just felt so...peaceful when the sun set." 

"Just wanted to make sure. It's not like you to sit in the dark." 

"Yes it is, Jim-- it's called meditation." 

Nice try, Sandburg. "I'd know if you were meditating." 

"The same way that you knew where Lash had taken me?" 

Dangerous ground. How much of his senses did Jim use in everyday life, and on whom did he use them? He'd always wondered when Blair would become curious. "...Sorta," he answered cautiously. "Is that a problem?" 

"No. In fact, I need you to do it again." 

"Do what again?" 

"Find Lash." 

"Well, that might be kind of hard this time since we don't even know where to start-" 

"-he's in Paris." 

"How do you know?" 

"Because Cookie told me that she's _seen_ mom. It's...it's so sick, Jim. She told me that she saw mom the other day but mom must've not heard her calling...that she just rushed away in the opposite direction. I said 'How did you know it was mom?' and she said that she said that no one in the world knows what Naomi Sandburg looks like the way that she does. Well you know what?" His voice shook and Jim wanted so badly to be able to steady it; steady his partner. "David Lash knows what she looks like, too. When I think about him wearing mom's clothes...pretending to- oh God." Dropping his head between his knees, he breathed deeply, his heart beating too fast. 

It _was_ sick, Jim had to admit. The thought turned his stomach and it wasn't even his mother in question. "Blair, I-" What was the point? There was no possible way for him to help Blair at this point, not with weak words and commonplace condolences. Watching Blair made it seem even more pathetic a situation. The younger man stood dizzily and looked around as though he didn't quite know where he was. 

Jim stiffened with resolve, grabbing Blair by the shoulders. "We'll go. Is that what you want?" He almost didn't catch the barely voiced wisp of an answer. 

"Yes." 

* * *

Twenty four hours later, Jim was remembering why he, as a rule, never made decisions in haste. This had turned out to be a colossal error in judgment, and an error that wasn't easily recovered from. David Lash paced between the two meticulously bound detectives. 

"I've always wanted to be a Sentinel," he crowed, looking from Blair to Jim like a kid in a candy store. Then, swinging Jim's gun around to point at his two captives, "Freeze, Cascade PD!" 

"But...I thought...you mean that you did all of this just to get _Jim_?" 

Lash as Jim was downright creepy, and the gold shield shone obscenely on the disturbed killer 

"What, you want to know _why_?" Lash taunted, clearly enjoying himself. "You thought it was going to be you." He whirled around to face Jim. "But it's not! Bet you're relieved, aren't you, hero? That it's going to be you and not your little sidekick? Well, I know a secret." He leaned in to Jim's ear to whisper "He's going to be _my_ sidekick, soon." 

He couldn't suppress a shiver, but refused to give this psycho the satisfaction of knowing what a kick in the gut that this 'secret' had given him. 

"Why me?" Being a Sentinel, things rarely came as a surprise but this--this came as a complete shock. "I thought that you had your heart set on being Sandburg." 

"Whatever. Blair...you...it's all the same thing." He twitched uncomfortably beneath his -Jim's- shoulder holster, which he wasn't used to. "I could see it even before when we were working together to solve those _puzzling killings._ I can see him all over you. I can hear him in your voice, see him in your eyes, your walk...you didn't even know it, but you've been doing the exact same thing that I was, really." He laughed, amused. "Feels good, doesn't it? Like tasting the very essence of Blair Sandburg." He licked his lips and Jim had to remind himself repeatedly that Lash had no history of cannibalism. No, just murder and twisted role playing. 

"It's not the same thing!" Blair said, his voice catching with revulsion. "If he has anything of me, it's because I gave it to him...he didn't steal it, he didn't _kill_ me for it." 

"No?" Lash looked heavenward and pretended to think this over. "Maybe...maybe not." 

"I'm tired of talking. I have some things to do." He opened a small case and brought out a syringe, stared at it for a second and instructed Blair, "You'd better hold still while I do this. If not, it's your neck, literally." 

The needle had barely pulled out of his neck when the first wave of overwhelming fatigue hit Blair, "Jmmm..." He slurred, and then dropped from consciousness. Once the young man was still, Lash brushed Blair's long curls with a shaking hand, stroking over his forehead. "Hang in there, Chief. I'll get you out of this somehow," he assured, a parody of Jim's own concern. Jim had to turn away from the vulgar sight of David Lash manhandling his partner. 

"So, does this mean it's time for you to kill me?" 

"Kill you?" The killer seemed genuinely puzzled by this comment. For a long while, he stared up at the ceiling in deep thought. 

"I don't think so. I just can't...I've never had such a lovely collection before. A family. I've never really...had a family." He circled Jim, rubbing his face on the Sentinel's short hair as he thought. "And I've never seen a mommy like that one." 

Jim momentarily forgot Lash's hot breath on his face. "Who are you talking about?" he growled. Blair was much better at talking to this freak show. 

"Oh, that's right, you haven't seen her yet. I'll bring mommy in later. Though, I think that you know her best as Naomi. Do you think that she'll let me call her Naomi? Hairy Blairy calls her whatever he wants to, so I think it's only fair that I get to. After all, I am part of the family." 

The _Addams_ family, Jim thought, but held his tongue. 

"Ha! I fooled you, though, didn't I? You thought that she was dead. Don't be upset, I had to make you think that so that you'd come. Families stick together and I knew that yours--ours-- would, too." 

Blair's head fell forward and with nothing to catch it, bounced a little before hanging limply, a fact that didn't escape Jim's attention. He watched, worried, and waited for Lash to leave so that he could go to his partner. He couldn't keep the dials at these settings for much longer, they were sliding, slurring together like the effects of too many shots of tequila. Like the words that Lash was saying, which he couldn't quite catch. The satisfied nod of the killer's head registered in Jim's brain far too late, after he'd left the room and Jim suddenly realized that he was indeed alone and could go to Blair finally. 

Carefully, he lifted Blair's head, so heavy and _gone_ , and lay it into a more natural reclined position. The drugs made his muscles buzz pleasantly and he could track the lovely poison as it made its way through his veins, spreading the lazy euphoria wherever it traveled. So nice, and there was a reason that he should pull his attention from this captivating process, but he couldn't remember why. 

"...Jmmmm..." 

A sound- no, a voice. Blair's voice. 

"Jimm, wakeup..." 

He opened his eyes to find himself lying flat on his back on the floor. 

"Jim!" Hearing the desperation, he sat up and tried to shake off the torpor. Blair looked down at him and wiggled his bound hands and feet. "C'mon, get me out of this." 

"Kayyy." His own voice sounded strange, faraway and tinny; long distance. In the back of his mind, he knew that there was something very important for him to tell Blair, but things kept drifting and it was all he could do to just watch his hands as they fumbled around Blair's knots, looking for the weaknesses. 

Finally, freed, they slumped together on the floor against the wall. 

"Drugs, huh?" Blair watched the light fixture slide down the wall over and over again. 

"Yeah...me too." 

"Wow, you?" Then, a long while later, "Wow, you? Maybe I should ask you all the things about you that I always..." he drifted off, distracted by his own wiggling shoes stretched out in front of him. 

"...always wanted to know," Jim said, and chuckled. Suddenly, he stopped smiling and said, "Naomi." 

The blunt and unexpected pain came crashing through Blair's defenses, rendered nonexistant by the drugs. His hands covered his face, concealing his reaction the best he could. How could Jim be so cruel? It was bad enough that he was about to lose his best friend, but to remind him of what he'd already lost? He sniffled, horrified at his lack of control. 

"She's alive...Lash has her." 

"Wh-what?" uh oh. Visual hallucinations were one thing but now he was hearing things. Or maybe Jim was the one with the hallucinations. 

Jim licked his lips slowly, fascinated by the feel of wet on dry. Everything seemed fascinating right now, so fascinating that it was difficult to focus on what he'd been saying. 

"Jim!" 

"What?" 

"Naomi. You were saying..." 

"Oh. I think he's bringing her back with him later." 

"Naomi?" 

"Yeah," Jim smiled goofily, leaning his head at a horizontal angle to see Blair. "Naomi's here, Chief!" His head came to rest on Blair's shoulder and in answer to the tears he saw, rubbed his head in encouragement, too limp to do anything else. "S'good, Sandburg, don't cry, that's what's good, you won't cry anymore..." 

The room went gray just a few seconds before it went black. 

* * *

"Wake up, boys!" 

Neither of the drugged men had ever heard David Lash sound so chipper. Jim came to first and patted his friend's face until he elicited a confused, "unnghh." With groggy faces, they squinted up at the killer in the doorway... 

And a guest. 

Not a guest, exactly, because Naomi Sandburg's hands were tied behind her back. The ties were reinforced with duct tape that was going to hurt like hell when it came off, and her feet were tied as well, loosely enough for her to walk but that was it. 

"Mommy and daddy are sorry that we took so long, but you boys needed your nap. Feel better now?" Lash helped Naomi into a chair and then squatted down by his other hostages. 

"Mom?" Blair asked drowsily, blinking in Naomi's direction. "Is that you?" 

"Yes, sweetie, I'm fine." She appeared more pissed than anything. 

Against his partner, Blair gasped and abruptly began to shiver, his teeth chattering painfully. Jim pulled him closer. "Look at him, he's going into shock. We need some blankets! It's the drugs, the cold...Christ, Lash, what the hell are you trying to do to him?" 

He was rewarded with a lightning fast backhand, surprisingly strong for such a small man. Blood spilled warm over his lips, Blair's hand chilly against his own. 

"David, that's enough!" Naomi scolded, her eyes wide. 

He ignored her, studying Jim and his Guide carefully. "No, Naomi, he has to learn that he can't talk to his father that way." After a long pause during which he scowled, paced the room and muttered incoherently, he finally reached a decision. "You'll have to be punished. I was hoping that the four of us could spend some quality time together tonight, but you, James Ellison, are grounded." He kicked at Blair with his foot. "So are you." 

It took every bit of strength that he had, but it was for Blair so Jim bit down his pride and asked, "Please. Blankets?" Common sense was beginning to emerge from the fog of the drugs that Lash had given him, and the most pressing item was Blair's unstable condition. 

"There are blankets as well as pillows in the closet," came the smug reply. "You boys can share the bed but I want it made in the morning. You can have free rein in your room but no TV past ten, and no trying to get away with staying up and watching those late shows." He chuckled and ruffled Blair's curls affectionately. 

When he was gone, Jim looked around, realizing for the first time that his surroundings were distinctly American, more specifically that of an American boy's bedroom. Sports pennants on the walls, a dresser and chest of drawers, small television, and twin-sized bed had been placed strategically, presumably while the two of them had been unconscious. 

He used the linens in the closet to make up the bed, and helped a still shaking Blair onto it and under the covers, a feat that used up most of his waning strength. "J-Jim," he chattered, sucking in great gulps of air whenever he could, "Did you see Naomi?" He couldn't tell, didn't know for sure if she was real or just a drug-induced illusion. 

"Yeah, Chief. I saw her." 

"'kay." 

Jim kept watch over Blair as he slept, vaguely recognizing the fact that he was guarding and also that the guarding was more than likely futile, should Lash decide to come back. His own strength had been sapped by the many injections he'd already endured. The injection sites were all burning like bee stings, and he wished that Blair were awake because Blair would be able to lessen the pain, somehow. But that was a selfish wish, and it was good for Blair to be sleeping. When he woke up he'd most likely have a clearer head and they'd be able to start thinking of a way out. 

Another reason that he wanted to see Blair awake and alert was to remind him of what they'd just learned- Naomi was indeed alive. 

He leaned against the headboard and groaned softly to himself. God, the look on Blair's face when his mother had walked in the room...he never wanted to see that expression, that stark pain again in his partner's eyes again. It was all of the grief, fear and regret of the past weeks assaulting him at once...right when he was at his most vulnerable. 

At least Lash didn't seem to be in any hurry to kill either of them. And when he did decide that it was time, Jim would be first. The thought of Blair having to witness David Lash masquerading as his Sentinel made him ill, but the thought of having to see him again in that long-haired wig sent a different knife of terror up his spine. 

By the time Blair was finally stirring, Jim had inspected every inch of the room. The bad news: apparently Lash had made the same thorough inspections. The windows were filled in with concrete and the door was equally secure. Even if he could've used anything in the room for a weapon, he was much weaker than usual and Lash probably planned to keep him in that condition. Shit. They'd have to find another way out. Wait and watch, it was a strategy he'd practiced many times in the military...and in Peru. He could do this. 

The drawers were bizarrely filled with clothes bought to fit both Blair and Jim, but when he checked the television, he found that it was just for effect. The cord had been severed and rendered completely useless. However, a makeshift bathroom in the corner of the room promised the possibility of getting clean sometime soon. Even though the water wasn't working, maybe their captor would have it turned on for them. 

"Tell me that that was a dream," Blair moaned, pulling the blanket over his head. 

"Which part?" 

"Any of it." A head of tangled curls poked out from the covers. "Preferably all of it." 

"Sorry Chief, no can do." Blair's eyes seemed clearer, and Jim took advantage of that fact, since Lash would most likely be coming back soon to administer more drugs. "But there are clean clothes in the dresser." He'd already changed from his week-old somewhat nasty attire, and wanted Blair to enjoy the same relief. 

"Man, I never thought I'd see myself getting so excited over a pair of _sweatpants,_ but this is heaven, here," he chattered, pulling the soft fleece garment over his head. "This feels, like, a zillion times better and Naomi- God, wasn't it incredible seeing her?" 

"Yeah." Jim couldn't stop pacing. The room was too much like a cage and the longer he sat in it, the more like an animal he felt. "She looked good," he agreed. 

"So..." his partner stood in front of him, halting the pacing. "did I miss something or did David Lash suddenly turn into Ward Cleaver?" 

"I don't seem to remember Ward Cleaver turning a backhand on the Beave, Sandburg." He couldn't help his grumpy attitude. The lip still smarted and had swollen, making talking difficult. 

"No...I guess not. Let me take a look at that." Gentle probing fingers touched around but not on the injury. "It looks okay...too bad we don't have any ice." Blair lowered himself from tiptoes, and frowned thoughtfully. "Besides. You'd be Wally, not the Beaver." 

Unbelievable, Jim thought, but his mouth betrayed him, curling up in a reluctant smile. Here they were being held hostage by a known killer, and his partner wanted to argue the semantics of Leave it to Beaver. 

He watched Blair do the same thing he'd done earlier, checking the windows and door, then the furnishings. 

"Creepy," the younger man declared when he'd finished his rounds. "What's this supposed to be, anyhow?" 

"The family he always wanted?" Jim shrugged. "He just changed his MO midstream, and it's like Naomi's the mom and we're his..." Goddamn it, it was almost too sick to say out loud. Sons? Family? What did that mean to David Lash? He prayed that Lash's ideas about a 'real family' were vastly different than the killer's own childhood experiences. 

"Suddenly I don't feel such an urgent need for a bath anymore," Blair murmured to himself, remembering some details from Lash's childhood. Jim heard, and silently agreed. 

"Any ideas?" They'd returned to the bed, the only place to sit in the room besides the floor. It was getting late and even chillier, the only way that Jim could determine day from night. 

"I think we need to get a better idea of what Lash is up to," he confessed, wishing he had a brilliant stratagem to reveal to his partner. "Maybe he'll leave us alone with Naomi and she can give us an idea of where we are." 

Blair shivered hard, rubbing his arms. 

"Why don't you put a couple more tshirts on under that sweatshirt?" Jim suggested. "It'll help tonight when it gets colder." 

"Did you?" 

"No, but I tend to stay warmer than you...and you had more of that drug in your system." e coul 

Blair took Jim's advice and added the extra layers, sniffing himself as did so. "I stink," he said. "How long has it been since we showered?" He could also use a shave, comb, and toothbrush, he thought grimly, but being semi-warm was okay for now. 

"About a week." Jim had climbed into bed and was watching Blair dress with detached interest. He'd smelled worse in his Army days. "Come on, go to sleep. After all, dad might want to get us up early and take us fishing." He smiled into his pillow. 

"You're sick." 

* * *

A whisper. "Jim?" 

"Yeah." 

"I was thinking. I think we ought to go along with his...his delusion. Cooperate. Make him comfortable, then catch him when he slips up." 

"I think so, too." 

Sandburg didn't reply, and Jim felt the fuzzy edges of sleep begin to embrace him, but then- 

"it's gonna be weird, though." 

"It's already weird. Go to sleep, Sandburg." 

A low chuckle, and the bed shifted, Blair moving minutely closer. For heat or comfort, Jim didn't know, but he was suddenly glad that they were together in this; that neither of them had to be here alone in the dark. 

* * *

Whatever Jim had expected when Lash returned, it wasn't a cheerful man bringing gifts. Toothbrushes, razors, and soap. And soap meant water, which Lash informed them he'd turned on. 

They stared at him in disbelief as he went on and on, reminiscing about vacations they'd never taken and inside jokes that no one else could understand. He didn't notice their silence, just deposited their toiletries and walked around the room, smiling and chattering. Finally, he turned to them and instructed, "Hurry and get yourselves ready, because I'm coming back in an hour with some food and something to...relax you." 

When he was gone, they climbed out of bed to inspect what he'd left. "Hey, you think this old thing really works?" 

Jim followed Blair's gaze to the clawed antique tub in the corner and shrugged. "He said it would. Might as well try." 

The ear-splitting squeak of the out of use faucet made him cringe, and his hands flew to his ears for protection. 

"Oh, Jim, sorry." Blair was at his side in a second, worried and ready to help. "Are your dials up? If so, you need to get them down before he gives you the next round of drugs." He paused and studied his partner, as though he could see the effects of the week by looking at him. "How're you holding up with that stuff in your system, anyhow?" 

The truth was that his senses had been iffy, not nearly as reliable as he wanted them to be, and his strength was not up to speed, either. Mentally...the drugs had done a number on him at first, leaving him confused and emotional. Thankfully, that effect had worn off...for now. 

"I'm okay, Sandburg. Just...glad you're here. I don't think either of us are good for much when he hits us with that stuff." 

"Right. That's why I'm gonna..." he jerked a thumb toward the tub, which was filling the room with steam. He expressed his joy over hot water with a groan and then stripped off his clothes, all the while cursing and frantically hopping, trying to keep warm. Loud contended sighs and splashing came from the corner as he scrubbed himself and soaked in the hot water. "He even remembered conditioner," he commented, working the slippery stuff through his hair. "This is a far cry from my last David Lash kidnapping experience. _Not_ that I'm complaining," he added. 

Jim shaved while Blair bathed and then they switched, hurrying around with nervous, chilly goosebumps until they could get dressed again. 

A few days, minutes, hours or seconds later, Jim came to a slow awareness. The drugs seemed to have built up, attached themselves to his body, refusing to be washed away with time. Perhaps they would stay in his system forever, leaving him in a permanent state of confusion. One fact did seem to make its way through he haze, though. 

He was among family. His family was _here_. 

Which might account for the general feeling of misery that plagued him, save for the few clear moments during which Blair, (his...brother?) touched and spoke to him soothingly, easing the malaise slightly. 

Moments melted together and it took all of his strength to pull bits and pieces of information from the swirl of activity and nothingness. A shape took form, and he pulled his weighty eyelids open. 

..."Jim. Picture the dial, come on. First sight. Up, up, come on. Up as far as you can take." 

He recognized that voice, it was...definitely part of his family, someone close, constant...a warm body at night and a constant companion during the day. 

"Blair?" 

Relief flooded his beloved sibling's voice, and firm hands gripped him tighter. "Yes, Jim, now touch. Can you do touch? Find the dial, you know where it is." 

Touch...yes, he could see the touch dial and he did as he was told, going up until things felt more or less normal. Was the haze clearing? He blinked, and there was Blair. 

"Jim, man, you've had me so worried. You're _out_ of it. Is it your senses?" He ran his fingers through tangled hair, muttering to himself. "Of course it's your senses...it's the damn drugs that he's been pumping in you. I'm off of them, but of course..." He gestured at his feet but Jim didn't see the leg irons that held his Guide immobile. 

"Bl..." cringing at the sound of his voice, he cleared his rusty throat and tried again. "Blair. What's...where's..." He didn't finish. 

"Where's Lash? Who knows. But I'm sure he'll be back tonight. He always is. Tell me, though. How do you feel?" 

Slowly, Jim sat up on the bed, rubbing his face over several days worth of stubble. More like a beard now, really. "Like Rip Van fucking Winkle." Blair handed him a cup of water, which he gulped down gratefully. 

Blair watched as Jim rose, stretched and finally looked away as he relieved himself. How very like Jim to just give him a panic attack with the zombie routine and then act as though everything were completely normal when he came out of it. It had happened a number of times over the years, so he didn't exactly expect Jim to sit down and start pouring his heart out about it, but he _definitely_ didn't expect his partner to turn to him with uncharacteristically eager eyes and say, 

"Where's Mom?" 

"Uhh.... _my_ mom?" 

" _Mom_. She's coming, right?" 

His throat closed up in tandem with his eyes. This was a nightmare. A nightmare from which he had no chance of awakening. _Fuck_ David Lash, he screamed internally. For everything he'd done, but most of all for messing with his Sentinel. It didn't take a psychology major to know that even when this was all over and done...especially with the Ellison family history and issues, there was going to be an emotional overload that had to be dealt with. 

Jim Ellison didn't deal well with emotion overload. 

"I, uh." What do you say to that? When your best friend has entered a dimension not your own, but you don't have the heart to tell him. ' _Your_ mom left when you were eight, but Naomi's in restraints upstairs, soon to be brought down by our kidnapper who happens to be a serial killer, Jim.' Not. 

The bright blue eyes darkened suddenly in perceived understanding, turning away. "She's not coming, is she." 

"No, nonono, it's not that. As a matter of fact, she'll come tonight with, uh..." No way was he going to call that monster _dad_. "you know. With _him_." 

Jim relaxed in relief and nodded. "Tonight is game night?" he asked hopefully. 

Blair grimaced. "Tonight's Game Night, all right. Just the four of us and a monopoly board. Maybe this time you'll be able to do more than stare at the wheelbarrow all night...unless he decides to send you on a little head trip again." Blair's words were tinged with nervousness as well as disgust, but it was almost as though Jim couldn't hear him. He washed up and shaved quickly, then sat on the loveseat, quietly waiting with no sign of discontent at all. 

"Whatever, man," Blair muttered, too weary to try and figure out what was going on with his Sentinel. There were a few loose bricks around the edges of the window, and he jiggled halfheartedly at those, refusing to give up on the prospect of freedom. If Jim were only stronger... 

"We need to get out of here," Jim said suddenly, urgently, as though he'd just realized it. But the logic behind this conclusion slipped swiftly from his sense of reason. 

"No shit." 

The face looking back at Blair was still perplexed, though, trying to sort things through. Reality versus fantasy, which could he trust? "You're..." He wanted so badly to ask how long they'd been here, because something told him that he and Blair lived elsewhere, somewhere that they needed to return to. But this small room with the comfortable bed and occasional visit from his lovely, lovely mother were all that he could remember. 

So why did they need to leave? 

Images of Blair crying, Blair shivering flashed in his mind. 

"...Chief?" 

"Yeah?" But no, he _wasn't_ crying or shivering. Just pacing around the room impatiently. 

"Hmm. Nothing." How embarrassing to be so befuddled like this. Hopefully Blair wouldn't notice, he thought, sneaking another look at his friend. Blair looked up to him, Blair might be disappointed in him. That couldn't happen because there was a certain way things worked, and... 

he lost all train of thought when the light reflected from the shiny button-fly of his jeans. Shiny... bright and golden... 

Golden. Jim drifted. 

Blair wasn't happy here, Jim realized with interest hours later, and the petulance grew even more noticeable as the family sat down together at a folding card table to play, as Blair had predicted, Monopoly. Jim frowned at him, having never seen him so ill-tempered. 

"You're looking better tonight, Jim," Naomi commented and he positively glowed. Her own eyes were glassy, but Jim, thrilled with the compliment, didn't notice. 

"Thanks, mom." 

Blair sulked, muttering, "he won't look that way for long, not if _dad_ has anything to do with it." 

"Shut up, Hairy Blairy. You're ruining everyone's fun. As a reward for your brother's good behavior, he can skip his medicine tonight." He arranged his piles of money into neat rectangular piles as he spoke. 

Perfectly fashioned piles, perfectly fashioned family. 

Jim reached for the dice. 

"You lost a turn," Blair reminded him. 

"I know. I skipped it last time." 

"No you didn't. You _landed_ on lose a turn last time." 

"Boys..." Lash warned good-naturedly. He was truly loving this, Blair realized, and desperately wanted to throw his game piece; overturn the table and get his securely bound hands around this psycho's neck. The raw hate that shot through him made him gasp and nearly double over with the force of it. 

Jim shrugged. "I'm going." 

"No you're not!" It wasn't right to turn his fury on Jim, but how the hell would Jim know? He was drugged stupid, and couldn't even tell the difference between a hostage situation and Family Fun Night. His "blessed protector" had essentially left him on his own in this freak show. 

Jim reached for the dice only to have two bound together hands slam down, trapping his hand against the table. 

"You. Are. Not. Going. It's _my_ turn." 

Heretofore docile because of the drugs, Jim's baser instincts began to emerge. He shook off Blair with a rough gesture and jiggled the dice in his hand, taunting now, mocking until he was hit full-body with the force of his outraged partner, sending them both to the floor where they struggled against one another, vying for ownership of the dice tightly held in Jim's sweaty hand. 

"Boys, that's enough!" Lash instructed, and Naomi just watched wearily. 

Blair struggled to his feet, hard to do with your hands together, and swiped at the pieces of hair stuck in his mouth. Jim's back was against the bed, where he lay panting. "He always does this! You _always_ do this!" The Sentinel accused with a pointing finger. 

Blair looked around. "Me?" 

"You, yes you. You don't want me to have _anything_. You want me to be in trouble so that I can't have anything. It's not going to work this time because he saw the whole thing." Despite his confident words, his voice shook and the look he gave David Lash could only be described as beseeching. 

To Blair's surprise, Lash was thrown. Obviously uncomfortable with virile, strong Jim's display of vulnerability and no longer happy with the way things were going, he gathered up the board game. 

"This is over. Say good night to your mother." 

Naomi rose like a puppet, and Jim lurched to his feet in response. "No, don't leave. Mom? We were...we were just...playing around. I'm sorry. I..." 

Blair watched his partner standing tall yet seeming so very small as he searched for the right plea to make his mother stay. He had to look away, away from the naked pain on his face because it was James Ellison's authentic pain, carried over from when his own mother went away. " _Please_ ," was his final useless attempt, and then Lash and Naomi were gone, leaving them standing again in the dim, now familiar room. 

A few moments passed in tense, expectant silence, and then Jim broke the spell by collapsing down onto the bed, defeat in the line of his shoulders, the droop of his eyes. 

"She's gone," he whispered, the words a mere breath that got lost in the darkness. He sensed the anguish of the situation even if he didn't understand the cause. 

"What, Jim, no." Blair sighed from his position in the far corner. Away from Jim. "She'll be back. They'll both be back." A long time passed as he let that sink in, still too cautious to approach his partner after the volatile emotions they'd experienced earlier. When Jim spoke again, it was with gravel in his voice. Wet gravel. 

"Blair? What's happening?" 

If only he knew, he thought. Even if he _did_ have an explanation, it most likely wouldn't get through to his dazed Sentinel. But he couldn't let his friend suffer like this...not after all they'd been through. Jim had held him, guided him and been there for him during the long trip to this place they were at now, and he would do the same. Besides, his body was just aching, yearning for some kind of physical touch and particularly for the touch of someone who loved him, who'd known him before all this crazy shit had happened. Someone like Jim. 

Jim might be with Sylvie, he thought as he moved toward the bed, but she would never be able to penetrate the walls that Jim had built. She'd last for a while and then get tired of trying, just like the rest. He shouldn't have thoughts like this, he shouldn't, but he'd spent the past three weeks up close against his Sentinel, touching, whispering, hypothesizing, arguing...the stuff that intimacy was made of. How wrong was it to want to go a step further, to feel those sensitive, knowing hands on him in hunger instead of sympathy? 

Probably _very_. 

"Jim," he sighed, kneeling on the floor near the bed. The cracked tiles dug into his knees, and Jim didn't notice his grunt of discomfort. He did, however, raise rejection-saddened eyes up to meet Blair's when he felt the gentle touch on his thigh. 

_I still have the touch,_ Blair thought, _even if I don't have a Sentinel to use it on._

"Tell me something. When I said that I thought we should go along with the delusion and cooperate, I didn't mean..." He shook his head helplessly and flopped his face into the mattress, finally asking a muffled, "Are you _acting_ , here, or for real?" 

Jim tried to answer, but it was nearly impossible to swim through the thick gauze wrapped around all rational thought. He just prayed that Sandburg could understand the look in his eyes that was supposed to express all of his regret at the situation and the trust he had in Blair that his partner could get them through whatever this was. 

Blair was...something. Something special that touched his deepest sense of family. But there were too many ideas floating around in his head to nail down exactly what it was. A warm, heavy hand on his leg, that's what his definition of Blair narrowed down to at this moment. 

From Blair's point of view, Jim was either ignoring him or a just a lost cause. 

"Let's just go to sleep," he suggested. A few nights ago, Lash, obsessed with trivial familial rules and regulations, had paid them a visit and found them awake after their lights out curfew. He'd punished them with words and threats, and though he didn't lay a hand on them, since then Blair had made a point to get the two of them into bed on time. 

Jim was pliant and agreeable in his arms, which made it easier to get them both undressed and settled under the covers. His long exhalation had a melancholy note to it that Blair couldn't help but respond to. "Look, man," he offered. "What happened earlier...I was petty and stupid. We shouldn't be fighting. I'm sorry." 

He didn't get a reply, and something inside him tensed with despair as he felt Jim drifting further and further from everything normal. Damn it, they were in this together, and all he was getting was a block of ice. Even when Jim looked at him, he wasn't seeing _Blair_ , just through him or past him. Or worst of all, he saw someone else. 

"Jim," he whispered, and put cool fingers to his friend's back, making certain he wasn't asleep. Something about talking in bed always had a deceptively intimate feel to it, quiet and separate in which you could say things that wouldn't be right in the light of day, and there were things that he wanted to say to his friend. Heated skin quivered faintly under his touch, accompanied by a small, distraught sound. "Jim, look at me." 

But he didn't turn around, just lay on his side, facing the door in what Blair thought might be something of an act of keeping sentry. Emboldened by the fact that his reassurances had yet to be spurned, Blair slid his hand around to Jim's chest and held him close. 

"Stephen?" 

Blair froze, never having felt so alone in his life. He might as well be alone in the room, alone in this _hell_. "No," he whispered, disappointed, expecting Sentinel senses to pick up his reply. But again the anxious question came, "Stephen?" 

"No, damn it!" Blair hissed, nearly past his breaking point. "It's _me_ , Jim." 

"You pissed off dad this time, you-" 

"No!" Blair tightened his arm around his partner, pulling him closer still. "It's me--Blair. Blair Sandburg. Your _friend_ , your _partner_ , your _roommate_ , your..." he punctuated every word with the heel of his hand against the smooth, hard planes of Jim's chest. A need for acknowledgement, for the friend that he'd lost somewhere inside these cold concrete walls overwhelmed him. 

"Are you here with me, man?" he demanded, pushing his hair back in frustration before leaning forward to whisper against Jim's stubbly cheek. "It's you and me, Jim. Do _not_ do this to me!" 

His response was a whimper. Jim could feel the irritation radiating from his companion, but was helpless to do anything about it. He didn't understand _why_ , only that this person--his single source of comfort-- was unhappy and more important than that, expected something of him. 

And he'd do anything, _anything_ to keep those warm, soothing hands on his chest, because even as they struck him, it was with a restrained strength as not to inflict any pain. 

Still...it was difficult to sort everything out. Because the startling yet pleasurable sensation of wet, soft lips nuzzling at the side of his neck was usually associated with Sylvie, but-- 

the nuzzling moved to a spot underneath his ear, and he shivered with delight. 

\--not Sylvie. Who was it again, pressed up so intimately against his back? He wasn't accustomed to the mingling of the two sensations-- eroticism and comfort. The eroticism had come, in the past, from a large number of sources but the source of the comfort could be just one thing. 

Blair. 

He gasped, pleased beyond reason. Who had known that Blair could give him all this, and why was it so hard to keep his eyes open...the room spun lazily around him. He arched into the body behind him, seeking something solid and finding it in the form of Blair holding him even tighter. 

"That's right, it's me...I won't let you go," Blair whispered into his ear, finally feeling a spark of hope in the dismal situation. His naked legs slid along Jim's larger ones, tangling together as his hand traveled down the firm belly. This is _Mine_ , he thought proprietarily. For the moment at least. Not Sylvie's. Not David Lash's. 

Even the chill that radiated from the concrete wall behind him couldn't distract Blair's attention from the moment that he was living in right now. Jim's heat was enough. His stomach did a flip when the large man in his arms began to wriggle against him, pressing back with his muscular ass. 

Jim sighed and threw his head back, encouraging Blair to suck on his neck, which felt so good to him, better than anything in a long time...and the sure touch moved over his stomach down, down to his waistband where it lingered an unbearably long amount of time. 

He wanted the hand to go lower. He wanted _Blair_ to go lower. 

"Please," he whispered, feeling not at all like himself, and those fingers obeyed, fumbling their way under the waistband and into his underwear where they got right down to business, rubbing and squeezing the erection that he hadn't even known that he had. 

_Good_ , it was so good and he threw the covers aside, writhing with and against the source of pleasure. He needed to roar, scream, hump something, and his fists closed in desperation at his profound need. His eyes squeezed shut, and Blair continued to fondle him inside his boxers while his mouth made love to Jim's neck and ear. A whuff of steamy hot breath nearly undid him, and he opened his eyes, which caught on a glint on the wall. 

His dials had been working outside of his control for days now, and for a second everything blurred darkly. Then, just as suddenly, he zoomed in on the object with crystal clarity. A framed photo, taken and printed out by David Lash. Four people posed for the camera: Lash and Naomi standing together holding hands, then in front and slightly lower: Jim and Blair looking dazed and sullen; respectively. 

The family portrait. That's what Lash had called it, and of course that's what it was, father, mother, son, brother... 

Jim frowned. The scenario in the picture seemed wrongfully at odds with the lusty union now taking place in the small twin bed. They had to stop. Didn't Blair know, didn't he see the impropriety? 

The words that he attempted only came out as a gasp and in that wasted moment, it was too late. Because the sliver of light that shone through the doorway became a huge block of illumination that fell upon the bed, and there was no mistaking the strangled cry of rage that came from the figure standing in the door frame. 

David Lash stared at the sight that greeted him. This couldn't _be_ , this was intended to be the perfect family, and these two did nothing but ruin it at every chance they got. He should've known better, because they'd stopped his fun when they'd met in Cascade, too. The bickering earlier that evening had been one thing, but the sight of Jim's cock, slick and swollen in Blair's hand was too much. 

They leaped apart, Blair against the wall and Jim shielding him while hastily pulling at his boxers to cover himself. _Caught_ , Jim thought wildly, his only inclination to protect the comfort-source behind him. Bad or not, Blair had touched him so gently that he'd temporarily lost all track of good and evil. 

But one thing was sure: they would certainly be punished for this evil. 

* * *

By the time that their pseudo-father retreated behind the furiously slammed door, the small prison that the two men shared was a shambles, as was Jim's psyche. He'd lain on the bed, trying to protect Blair as best as he could, taking the blows delivered by an irate, completely unraveled David Lash. 

Now he lay listlessly, his face on the pillow, murmuring in a bare whisper, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sorry," endlessly apologizing while Blair washed the blood first from his own face, then from Jim's. The last thing that Lash had done was administer a liberal amount of drugs into the Sentinel, leaving Blair essentially on his own again. 

He sighed and used the damp cloth gently on Jim's temple and cheekbone, in the places where blood was beginning to cake. Gone was the satisfaction of having Jim as his own, gone the thrill of that well muscled body to touch as he pleased. His stomach heaved, and he dropped the cloth, stumbling to the toilet where he knelt, waiting to be sick. 

Nothing in his life had ever seemed as hopeless as this abysmal situation. _Nice going, Sandburg_ , he thought bitterly. Shivering on the floor with bruised knees waiting to vomit while his best friend lay on the bed in a near catatonic state covered in injuries that were caused by his own badly chosen seduction. Cold, dirty, sore and disoriented. Not to mention the fact that they were in danger of being killed at any moment by a proven killer who had his mother upstairs doing God knows what to her. 

To his relief, the nausea subsided, leaving him free to explore the chaos left by his captor. God, the look in Lash's eyes when he'd caught them--what had he been thinking! He'd never wanted his first time with Jim to be in nothing more than a prison, and the danger of being walked in on should've put a damper on his libido, but... 

What if there never _was_ another chance with Jim? That was the reason for his urgency that led to the lapse in judgment...wasn't it? Or maybe...he kicked the remnants of the broken picture frame out of the way and shook his head in dawning disgust with himself. Was it possible that the reason he'd seized the inappropriate moment was because Jim had been in no position to refuse him? 

No! He couldn't think that way. Everything was all messed up. A few more injections and the damage done to his partner might be irreversible, so he couldn't let that happen. His morale improved slightly with that revelation. A goal, something to work at. Making sure that Lash stayed away from Jim with that needle. 

" _Jim_ ," he whispered hoarsely, hating his voice in that tiny room. It seemed even smaller now that everything lay scattered about. Lash's rampage had frightened him more than anything else thus far in this nightmare but Jim, always the hero, had protected him from the worst of it. Blair traced his fingers over the bare, bruised shoulder, down and across the bluish black marks that covered his arms. He'd been so brave, not flinching even as the ugliest things that Blair had ever heard came flowing out of Lash's mouth. Apparently he'd found it repulsive that a man as _strong_ and _masculine_ as Jim would ever let a sissy like Blair lie down with him in that way. 

Jim felt cold to his touch, so Blair gingerly covered him with the blanket and found a spot across the room where he himself could sit. When Lash returned, there was no way in hell he'd let him find them together in bed, even if all they were doing was sitting. 

The key in the lock sent his entire body on edge, and he glanced over at Jim wistfully. Then he remembered his decision to keep him safe from further drugging. He jumped to his feet and stood defiantly in front of the door, ready for a confrontation. What did it matter? They were probably going to die in there anyhow. 

"Blair, honey?" the door stayed closed, and he could hear Naomi's tired, strained voice on the other side. 

"Mom?" He went to the door. "Are you all right? What are you doing?" 

A laugh. "Trying to get this door unlocked." 

"What!? Are you-are you alone? Where's Lash?" 

The door swung open and would've hit Blair if he hadn't jumped to the side. "Shit, mom!" But he wasn't upset, just relieved and anxious to hold her in his arms--and be held. When he pulled back from the shaken woman, his gaze traveled down to the object in her hand. 

"Mom, a _gun_?" he asked, stunned. 

She shot him a look and went to Jim to see about his condition. "Well, my cooking just wasn't cutting it, so I thought I'd try something with a little more of a kick." She petted Jim's exposed shoulder with a motherly touch. "Is he..." 

"He's fine. Just feeling no pain at the moment, that's all." For some reason he resented the suggestion that Jim might not be all right. 

"Can he walk?" 

"Naomi, what's going on?" His eyes darted nervously to the door. 

"Sweetie...I shot him. I shot David." She looked at the weapon in her hand in disbelief, and for a terrible second, Blair thought that she was going to cry. "I killed him," she whispered, then her eyes rose to meet his with a glint of steel that he'd never seen before. 

"And I'd do it again in a second. That lying bastard. Now let's call an ambulance for Jim because I'm not staying in this god awful place for one more minute." 

The minute the police showed up, the steel disappeared and Blair, choked with emotion, held his mother while she cried huge sobs of sorrow for the herself, her child, and the man who had set her up from the very beginning--her brand new husband, whom she had shot dead. 

* * *

Seventy two hours later, Blair threw his luggage, or what was left of it, into his room without actually entering the room himself. The last thing he wanted was to be in a small enclosed space right now. 

"You know what I love about the loft, man?" he sighed, sinking down on the couch. 

"The fact that you don't pay rent?" Jim went straight for a beer. 

"No, I was going to say the high ceilings, windows, and open space. Although now that you mention it, the rent thing is definitely one of the finer points of living at 852 Prospect." 

Jim chuckled and Blair considered the attempt at levity a success. Actually, things had been fairly normal since they'd been released from their weeks in captivity. Twenty five days, the calendar said that they'd been gone. Twenty nine if they counted how long they'd been away from Cascade. 

They hadn't talked much about all that had gone on. Naomi had made it easy for them to avoid their issues by spending a great deal of time describing how she'd met David "Johnson" at a retreat and had been intrigued by his eccentric nature. She seemed more angry than anything--angry with herself, with David, with the doctors...and Blair sat quietly, listening and worrying about Jim and Naomi. 

She'd decided to stay in Paris with Aunt Cookie and Blair was simply too tired to argue so he and Jim had gotten on a plane and turned everything over to Simon when they arrived in Cascade. From the airport they'd gone to the loft, and there they sat on the couch, trying to figure out what to do to get back to normal. 

"Jim." 

"Yeah." There wasn't even a question in his voice; he knew what was coming. 

"What do you remember of the past few weeks?" 

"I-" A pained look, a grimace. "Enough." 

"But, the last night-" 

"-I remember, Sandburg." He paused and sludged through his drug-tainted memories. "I remember. And I think that...that we should just forget it. I mean, we were drugged and confused. It's nobody's fault." 

Blair hesitated, staring out the window. The sun hurt his eyes, but it was the _sun_ , after so long in darkness so he squinted and continued to look. 

"Okay." 

"I guess I'd better call Sylvie." 

"Yeah, I'm sure she's worried. I kinda thought she'd be with Simon at the airport." 

"Really?" Jim pulled the beer bottle away from his mouth, surprised. "I didn't even think about it until just now." 

Blair grinned and motioned toward the phone. "Call the woman, then. I'll just go take a nice, hot _private_ shower...no offense." 

Jim grinned back, shaking his head. "None taken. I know what you mean. The loft is..." Blair grew curious when his friend looked down almost bashfully, still holding the phone in one hand. 

"What is it, man?" 

"Nothing, just that I'm looking forward to getting some privacy, too, but I'm," he cleared his throat roughly. "glad that I don't have to be here alone." 

His blue eyes, full of caution, met with Blair's and they exchanged a silent message of understanding before Blair moved away and into the bathroom. 

* * *

"Here's the rundown." Simon slapped several files down in front of him at the kitchen table, then took a large sip of coffee. He shook his head at the two detectives sitting across from him. "Still can't believe the two of you are sitting here. We're glad to have you back. It was getting damn hard to stay positive toward the end, but we never gave up." He stared at them again, unable to disguise his outright pleasure at having them alive and well. 

"Simon?" Jim eyed the files. 

"Right. First of all, I just took a look over the hospital records that they translated at the hospital. Nothing too bad, stitches, bruising, contusions...Jim, you were pretty drugged up with a number of things that I can't pronounce, so let's just say that you were riding high. Sandburg came up clean." 

"That can't be right." Jim pointed out, reaching for the chart marked Sandburg, Blair. 

"Uh, Simon-" 

"No, we were _both_ drugged. Tell him, Sandburg." 

Blair went cold. This was it, he could already feel his Sentinel pulling away from him. Simon waited expectantly across from him, waiting with Jim for an answer. 

"I...it's true that I was drugged several times during the kidnapping, Simon. But...About a week before our release..." his voice fell to an ashamed whisper. "he stopped giving me the injections." 

"No," came a barely breathed denial from his partner. 

"Gentlemen, did I miss something?" 

"No sir." The shock was gone, stone in it's place. Jim stood and began pacing. "Any word on how Lash managed to get out alive?" 

Simon ignored the subtle communication between his two friends. "Yes, actually, and you're not going to like it. As it turns out, you weren't the only one wearing kevlar that night, and en route to the morgue they realized that their corpse wasn't a corpse. Only, that slippery bastard somehow escaped from the hospital-" 

"And since we'd already made our proud announcement to the press about catching the serial killer..." Jim rubbed his face. Politics. 

"...bigtime coverup," Blair finished. "Son of a bitch." He looked away from Jim's silencing glare. 

"Any idea who did it?" 

"Yeah. And I'm not gonna tell either of you, _Ellison_ , because I know you. I also know what you've been through and you'd have no problem taking the admittedly slow-moving law into your own hands. Hell, none of us would," he added. 

Normally, Blair would've smirked at Simon's bulls-eye predictions, or at least ribbed Jim about it, but the tension held him still, keeping his eyes downcast. A month away had left the loft dusty, he realized while looking at the floor. Maybe later he could give it all a once-over. 

As if that would really make Jim forget about what he'd done. 

Simon departed wishing them well, but Blair just sat unmoving in his seat, giving a weak wave at the appropriate time. 

"Jim?" 

"Not now." But Jim couldn't hold the stiff posture, not after the events of the past few weeks. He collapsed onto the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. He couldn't retain the justifiable anger, either, because after all they'd been through why should anything take him by surprise? He'd been taken aback at Lash being alive, mildly put off that Sylvie had taken up with one of the detectives investigating his _own_ kidnapping while he was gone, and downright stunned that Blair...Blair... 

had done what he'd done. 

Which brought him to Why. Why Blair had done it. Jim hadn't been so out of it that he couldn't remember the desperation of the whole situation, and the lost expression that he hated so much on his partner- the one where his eyes went wide, glittering with hopeless tears that he would never, ever shed and that mouth went silent, with nothing to offer for a change. In a way he was kind of glad that Blair had felt free to take some comfort in a bad situation. 

"You know what?" he said with irony. He dialed up in time to catch Blair's heart thump frantically. 

"What?" Cautious, unsure of his standing. 

"I was actually starting to believe that he was my father." A sheepish shrug; it was the embarrassing truth. 

"I know." 

"And that you were my..." 

"I know." 

"Yeah." Thankfully, Blair didn't say anything else to that--just shuffled his feet on the floor and watched Jim carefully. 

"Chief," Jim turned his whole body toward his friend-- because could they really _not_ be friends anymore, even after what'd happened?-- "Naomi...she's a really good mom to have." 

"Aw, Jim...thanks." Blair closed his eyes, fervently wishing that he was in a position to have the right to go to Jim and touch him right now. Because he'd seen Jim during the times that he'd thought Naomi his mother and it would've been a beautiful thing to behold, had Blair not known it to be untrue. The eager, enraptured attention he'd given her had caused Blair too look away in hurt and resentment time and time again during their captivity, but he'd always acknowledged the wonder of what Jim had felt. "I'm sorry, Jim. I'm so sorry. I know the whole thing was hard for you-" 

"It was hard for you, too. I won't forget that." Jim didn't want to hear anything from him, for fear that it would be an explanation for what had happened, something that Jim just didn't want to talk about. Ever. 

Still...it was hard to forget the way Blair had somehow managed to envelop his entire body that night, all warm limbs and hot breath. An overwhelming sensory memory, he thought, shuddering and trying to shake off the recollection. He tried to remind himself how much he _hated_ what had happened, all the while knowing that tonight in his bed he would be going back just how Blair had taught him, to relive the experience, this time with a sound and curious mind. 

But _why_ had Blair done it in the first place? 

"You're probably wondering why I did it." 

"No," he quickly lied. "Forget it." 

"I _can't_ forget about it." Blair moved into the living room with his usual tenacity. "Can you?" 

"I want to." 

"Repression is supposed to be a coping mechanism, not a way of life." 

"I thought you said that any repression is bad." 

"For you, having an occasional repressed thought or feeling is actually an improvement." 

"Should I be insulted?" 

"Should I start looking for a new place to live?" 

And then, like it or not, it was there in the open because Blair had dragged it out there in spite of the effect it might have on their friendship. 

"No!" Jim scowled, and for the first time noticed that Blair was _nervous_ , eyes blinking widely behind his glasses as he waited for Jim's response. "Christ, Sandburg. We're _partners_. Friends too, or at least I thought we were. Now can you please stop talking about what happened, because it's in the past and it's never gonna happen again." 

A long pause during which Blair retrieved a dustrag and began cleaning, all the while thinking over what Jim had said, then- "Why?" 

"Why what?" He watched Blair dusting the knick-knacks. The way he handled their belongings was interesting to observe. He actually looked at each item like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen, cleaned it meticulously before replacing it just so. Then Jim realized that it was just a diversion, a way of stalling and appearing busy to avoid looking at him. 

"Why couldn't it ever happen again?" 

Jim stared at the back of his friend's head. "Are you serious? What in the hell kind of-" 

Blair interrupted, whirling around with pleading eyes. "It's not that crazy, Jim! You knew it was me, you said my name-" he hurried after Jim when he tried to leave the room. "Don't run away. You wanted it and it's okay to want things, Jim! Even if it's something new. I know that this isn't the best time right now, but-" 

"Stop it!" He raised his voice to a yell just to drown out the sound of Sandburg's insane ramblings, and pointed a shaking finger toward Blair. "You are _so_ wrong, Sandburg. You couldn't be more wrong. I was thinking of Sylvie." 

"You...you were?" 

Casting a bemused glance around the room, he finally came back to Blair. "Ha ha. You had me going there for a minute...you're just pulling my leg with all this stuff, huh Chief?" 

Blair opened his mouth, then closed it. What the hell. His head moved in an accepting nod that surprised him with it's traitorous assent. "Yeah... Sorry, man. Guess it wasn't very funny." His stance changed from aggressive to defeated in a series of subtle changes that left Jim feeling unsettled. He stifled the crazy desire to apologize and retreated to his bedroom upstairs. 

* * *

"Please tell Mr. Ennis that I'm here to see him." Jim flashed his badge with an ease that Blair had always admired. He'd been secretly practicing since he'd gotten his own badge, but always ended up taking it out and opening it with deliberation since the time he'd ended up dropping it on the ground in front of Simon, Jim and a perp who had sniggered annoyingly. 

While they waited for the secretary to notify her boss, Blair took in the room and everything in it. The row of chairs by the wall held a few sulking teenagers, and the walls showcased crinkled posters that proclaimed: Smoking Kills! and Stay in School. 

"Hey, bet this is the first time you've ever been in one of these, huh?" Blair elbowed his partner with a grin, receiving an exaggerated arch of an eyebrow. 

"Are you kidding?" Jim snorted. "What do you think happened to the kid who walked out of metal class because he said the fire in the soldering furnace was burning his skin from across the room?" 

"Oh, man are you kidding! Wow. I had no idea, Jim. You never talk about your experiences with your senses as a child. So, what happened?" 

He gestured at the kids in the chairs. "Nothing, I just ended up meeting a lot of kids like that." He leaned into Blair and lowered his voice. "Three of those five have pot on them." He probably would've done something about it, too, had it not been for Principal Ennis opening his door and gesturing them inside. 

"Mr. Ennis, I understand that you're concerned about what's been going on with some of your students. So is the PD. What can you tell me about what's going on here?" Again, Blair admired Jim's technique. The way he managed to convey with tone and body language how _not_ thrilled he was to be there. It wasn't the only thing he'd been admiring about Jim, though. 

It'd been difficult since their kidnapping but their relationship was about more than one fumbling night of mistakes, so slowly, they'd built their way back to normal. For Jim, it'd been a matter of overlooking one argument but for Blair it hadn't been that easy. 

Wanting Jim, while manageable before, had become a painful presence that he didn't know how to deal with anymore. Before, he'd had the blind comfort of fantasies. Now that he'd had a flat out rejection, even the smallest things dug painfully into his heart. Jim teasing him about his looks, Jim flirting with the new receptionist, Jim withholding his feelings. Nothing new, but somehow things _felt_ different, all because of the knowledge that Jim didn't want him. 

"....the parents are on me to find out what's going on, but the kids don't talk to the administration!" the red-faced principal had been talking for a while, and Blair glanced guiltily at his partner, who nailed him with a knowing smirk. Busted. 

"My partner and I are going to talk to some kids, check out some leads. We'll be in touch." 

Blair went first through the door and Jim followed him as the secretary called the name of one of the hoodlums. When they got to the end of a row of lockers, Jim stopped and eyed Blair suspiciously. "I guess you want me to fill you in, since you were wool-gathering during our meeting with the principal." 

"I-" 

"It's okay, Chief. It was that receptionist, huh?" 

"Huh?" 

"Shiny lips, tight sweater..." 

"Oh, right. Although I really didn't notice the shiny lips." 

"Didn't notice the wedding band, either, I guess." 

Blair felt himself relax, relieved. He really didn't have the energy to go back and get some woman's phone number just to cover for not paying attention. "Damn. Oh well, there's always the rest of the faculty. Care to fill me in?" He changed the subject quickly, uncomfortable with his obfuscations. Did Jim really buy this? Obviously he wanted to, which in itself was disturbing. 

"Kids making pipe bombs and other kinds of homemade explosives. The successful ones damage property, the unsuccessful ones blow off a limb." 

"ouch." 

"The rumor is that they're getting the know-now and or supplies at school." 

"From an adult?" Blair asked in disbelief. 

"Nah. Maybe. Probably an upperclassman. We really don't have anything to go on. Just a few names and addresses of kids who've been injured. One is in school right now. Randall Hoult. Figured we'd pull him out of class, give him a little scare." They set out down the hall, Blair shaking his head and grinning. 

"You like this way too much, man." 

"Yup. Ready?" Jim opened the door to room 502 like he owned the place. All eyes were on him as he strode up to the teacher, who turned out to be a rather pretty, young thing with deep brown eyes and sandy blonde hair. Blair stood to the side while Jim flashed his badge and sent awed whispers murmuring through the classroom. After a hushed, brief explanation, the teacher pointed out a boy in the back who was already fidgeting nervously. 

"Randall, these gentlemen would like to have a word with you in the hall. Come back if you need a pass." 

Jim made him sweat a little longer while he chatted with Ms. Jacobs, who gave him her phone number in case he had any questions. This is what she said but the whole while, her eyes said _call me, you handsome hunk of cop._ And as usual, Jim ate it up. 

Blair rolled his eyes and led the kid into the hall until Jim was finished. 

"You don't look like a cop," the kid said through narrow, weed-reddened eyes. 

"What a coincidence. You don't look like a future inmate at the State Prison, yet here we are." 

Jim joined them with a pleased smile and Blair didn't need to guess why. He led them both to an empty conference room. After he got settled across the table from the two Detectives, Randall looked from one to another with dawning recognition. 

"Hey, you're those two guys that everybody was looking for a while back. You got kidnapped or something." His face changed from contemptuous to impressed. " _Cool_." 

Blair resisted the temptation to look up; see Jim's reaction to that comment. 

"I see that you've been injured." Jim motioned to the boy's bandaged wrist, which did little to disguise the fact that his injured arm was at least eight inches shorter than the other. He'd lost his hand. 

"Yeah, and I already gave my statement to the cops when it happened, so you're wasting your time." 

"Maybe. Maybe not. Where did you learn about how to make bombs?" 

"On the internet." 

"That's convenient. I don't suppose you'd remember _where_ exactly on the internet you hatched this brilliant plan?" 

"No." 

Blair broke in, leaning toward the student. "Look, you know how badly people can get hurt doing this stuff. It seems exciting, or like something to do with your friends, but it's not. It's _dangerous_. Do you want the same thing to happen to someone else?" 

The kid's face lost some of it's edge during the first part of Blair's speech and Jim thought that they'd gotten through, but with Blair's last question the belligerence returned full-force. "Yes! I hope that it does!" 

Jim nodded as though he wasn't as stunned as Sandburg. "I see." Smooth as silk. "And is there anyone in particular that you'd like to see it happen to?" 

"There's no law against wishing." The scream of the bell took them all by surprises, and Jim stood up, bowing his head in pain. He'd been dialed up to hear the kid's vitals and had been taken completely by surprise. When Blair went to him, he gasped out as normally as possible, 

"Get him out of here," 

He hadn't had to say it twice and luckily the kids was so eager to be out of the hot seat that he didn't think anything of Jim's odd behavior. The dials were a bitch to get a hold of because of the noise during passing period. 

"Just a few more minutes," Blair encouraged, rubbing circles on the tightly clenched muscles of Jim's back. "I can't believe I forgot about the bell. Shit. Right over my fucking head." They weathered through the long moments until the halls emptied out and the school became almost eerily silent. 

"Got the dials?" He peered anxiously up into Jim's face and was forced to take a step back when his body rebelled against the proximity. 

Would there ever be a time that he didn't get close to Jim without feeling the looming penalties of getting _too_ close. His fingers begged him to let them wander over the stubbled flesh of Jim's face and his heart demanded to know why it'd been without a loving touch for so long. 

"I...guess we'd better get going," he said quickly and pushed their chairs back into an orderly row. Jim watched him silently, his ears ringing. The bell had disoriented him, yes, but he wasn't oblivious to Blair's strange behavior. It'd become too noticeable to miss in the weeks since their kidnapping. The way he'd get so close and then pull away with a wounded expression, like being near Jim actually hurt him. 

What happens to partners who fall into that unbalanced vacuum of feelings that they were fast approaching? He didn't want to find out, so he led Blair out of the school as though his head wasn't still pounding from the near-zone. 

* * *

They interviewed dozens of teenagers; some docile, some argumentative, all sharing the commonality of being less than forthcoming with information. The case kept them busy, because after all schools are crowded places with teachers, students and not to mention the parents, whom Jim and Blair both found despairingly oblivious. 

Blair lent his usual sympathetic insight, allowing Jim to give the kids that fearsome gaze that said 'I know what you did and you're going _down_.' All the while, Blair kept an abnormally large space between himself and Jim. He felt it slipping away, and not because of what had happened in Paris or even because Jim was unwilling to explore other facets of their relationship. 

It was falling apart because of himself, _Blair_ , because he couldn't come to terms with the abrupt conclusion to the closeness they'd shared in Cincinnati and Paris. He didn't understand how Jim could not miss it, miss the talks and the knowledge that there was a warm body just inches away willing to give as much corporeal comfort as needed. 

Maybe Jim could, but he couldn't. And he could tell that Jim was becoming more and more resentful of Blair's evident need. You can't hide some things from a Sentinel, especially when that Sentinel happens to be your best friend with whom you spend nearly twenty four hours a day, up close and personal. 

On the way home after the second long day of interviewing, Jim reluctantly turned to Blair. 

"Chief, I think we should talk." 

Blair swallowed, but nodded in agreement. "Okay." 

"I can tell that something's wrong," he said carefully. "I keep feeling like you...want something. That you're unhappy, and I'm not sure why. I have a pretty good idea, though." 

"Yeah? What's that." He didn't mean to sound so snide, but he was minutes away from handing his heart to a man who would stare at it blankly before politely putting it aside. 

"I think that you've been having...feelings for me. Feelings that have something to do with what happened that night when Lash busted in on us, and...maybe you want that to happen again. At least, the you and me in bed together part." His hands clenched the steering wheel painfully, trying to ward off the blush he felt gathering under his skin. He couldn't believe he'd just blurted that last sentence. 

Blair was blushing, too. He'd been in this position before--about to face a rejection from someone who wanted to 'just be friends,' and it was always mildly embarrassing, but he'd never had so much riding on it. 

"Yes," he admitted in a whisper, which was all he could manage. Why lie? 

Jim choked noisily; ungracefully. It wasn't really a sob, nor a laugh, just a flood of emotion that he couldn't contain. "I don't get it, Blair! What does that mean?" He spared Blair a quick glance across the bench seat, bewildered and seeking an answer that would set things right between them again. 

Blair wanted the same thing; for Jim to understand and for them to be okay again. But it was so hard to say, especially here in the truck with no distractions. 

"It means that I love you," he said simply, clutching his folder full of interviewee information. "It means that I love the person that you are, and I liked...touching you, before. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about, Jim, I'm sure you've been in love before." 

It was true, but the last thing he wanted was to hurt his partner. "I have. And I _do_ love you, Blair, I just don't..." It was too hard to finish, and he prayed that Sandburg would catch his meaning. _Please don't make me say it, Chief,_

And true to form, Blair did indeed catch Jim's meaning, suppressing the sorrow that leapt up from his throat with a hard swallow. "I know, Jim. I didn't...I didn't expect you to." He sagged against the seat, giddy with relief that he hadn't ended up sounding like one of the many women he'd let down easy, but like a casual guy getting some casual news and taking it...very casually. No big deal. Even a Sentinel wouldn't be able to tell. 

Jim sighed heavily. His heart sank because he _could_ tell, but had no idea what the hell to do about it. 

* * *

Blair lay in his bed, kicking off his covers restlessly. It was after midnight but there was no way he could sleep. Jim had gone off this evening smelling like cologne and wearing his first-date outfit, the whole handsome package spoiled by the apologetic air that he carried. 

The ceiling fan fluttered uselessly above Blair, stirring a breeze that did little to freshen the small bedroom. His skin stuck to the bed but he refused to open the door. There was no _way_ he was opening that door because Jim had not only gone off one a date this evening, but about ten minutes ago he'd arrived home and Blair had heard him close the door, lock it and go upstairs. 

With his date. 

Blair squeezed his eyes shut until he saw dancing sparks of color but that did nothing to drown out the sounds of movement upstairs; hushed voices, male and female. Jim almost _never_ brought women home. He'd only had a few dates with Ms. Jacobs, and while Blair himself never had a problem sleeping with a woman by the third or fourth date, he found the idea of this woman with _Jim_ upstairs repugnant. Was she some kind of tramp or something? The familiar squeak of Jim's bedsprings was doubled tonight by an extra body, and when he heard the silence fall, he knew that his hopes of her tucking Jim in and leaving were unlikely. 

He realized that instead of trying to block out the sounds upstairs, he was now listening attentively, mournfully taking in every rustle of cloth and skin, the wet, sucking sounds of kisses that grew incrementally more urgent as the minutes went by. 

Why would Jim do this to him? Maybe it was Jim's way of telling him to move on. His partner's motives really didn't matter, he thought, falling back onto his bed miserably. The fact was that it was happening and he was here, stuck in this prison of cruel acoustics. 

And as luck would have it, she was a talker. He couldn't make out much, not that he wanted to, but the word that kept coming through loud and clear jarred him right down to his toes. 

" _Jim_ ," she kept saying, " _Jim._ " 

Jim met every one of her comments and appraisals with low, murmured exclamations of his own but because he _knew_ he had a roommate sleeping below, his words were quiet and indiscernible. Blair turned his face into his pillow and breathed hard until his breath and the blood pounding in his head was the only sounds he could hear. After a while, he began to drift off but by then his body's functions had calmed down so much that he could clearly hear the rhythmic "oh, _oh_ , oh," of Ms. Jacobs...Karen. 

It was torture. Blair's head shook back and forth, tresses dragging across the pillow, in denial of the situation, begging for it to not be true, that he could wake up and have it be but a dream. His insides twisted painfully. She felt _good_ to Jim, in a way that he himself never would. 

A shard of betrayal laced through him. The unfairness of it was enormous in the sense that he'd spent the past four years growing a closeness with Jim that was nearly indestructible, and he was that one who had been there to pull Jim through countless crises and personal disasters. Yet he was upstairs giving himself to a woman that he'd barely known for two weeks. 

"No," he whispered into his pillow. 

* * *

Jim groaned. It'd been too long since he'd brought a woman home. The truth was that he wouldn't have even asked her in had she not been so forward and invited herself, but he wasn't complaining now. His first thought had been of his partner, that Blair might find out, but then she'd taken his hands and brought them down to her hips, encouraging him to explore. And the best exploring was done in bed, undressed. Even Blair would understand that. 

So here he was, pushing in and out of the petite English teacher, lost in the sensations washing over him, which were alternately pleasure and guilt. Pleasure, because pushing into that slick, tight space was second nature to him...and Guilt. He wasn't sure about the guilt. 

He started rocking harder, faster, shivering at the scraping sound of her acrylic fingernails on the railing...he was almost there, his face buried in her neck, when a tiny sound caught his attention. He dialed up without stopping his movements, straining to hear the muffled voice. 

"stop it, stop it, stopit stopit stopitstopitstopit," the desperate mantra repeated over and over, colliding with his own sounds of exertion. He froze. Sandburg. 

It was easy to conjure up a picture of his Sandburg with his friend's pitiful noises to go from; he could see it clearly in his mind. Face mashed into probably a pillow, pleading an impossible prayer to no one in particular, his feet sliding helplessly around on the sheets, curls tumbling helter-skelter. 

Shame cast an ugly light on his current position, dampening his fervor. The disgrace reached his penis immediately, which softened even before he pulled out of his annoyed date. 

"What are you doing?" she demanded with a frown. Uncertainty flickered over her lovely features and she reached for the sheet to cover herself. 

"Shhh!" He hissed. "My roommate." 

"But-" 

"I'm sorry, Karen." He pulled on his boxers and sat on the edge of the bed, pausing for a moment. It was a rare occasion that Jim Ellison was unsure about his next move, yet here he was. Kicking a woman out of bed was out of the question, but leaving the situation downstairs unattended was even worse. And right or wrong, he'd rather do the damage to a relative stranger rather than his best friend. 

The litany of phrases that Blair was using to drown out the sound of lovemaking remained constant, and in a guilty act of cowardice, he dialed down until he could get Karen out and to the door. He wasn't even sure what he'd told her, only that she got dressed quicker than Carolyn had ever been able to do, and Carolyn hadn't even had all of those complicated hooks and sexy fasteners that he'd found underneath Karen's clothes. 

* * *

He wanted to go to Blair, he really did. But Jim liked to plan in advance, and when he stopped outside Blair's closed door to try and figure out what to say, the potential awkwardness stifled his apology. By the time he'd decided that there were no words to fix the situation, Blair was asleep. 

He trudged up to his bed and changed his sheets, shoving the dirty linens in the hamper as though they were to blame. 

* * *

"Good morning, Shawn. How are you today?" Blair gave the latest interviewee a once over, already tired at 10:00 AM of teenagers and the attitude that they'd been giving he and Jim for the past two weeks. Interviewing every teen in the school had seemed an impossible task, but they were over halfway through the list, and had several small leads to go from if they didn't get their big break. 

_Please_ , he thought, _let us get a break._ The tension in the room couldn't be solely attributed to the students that took the hot seat. Jim had barely said a word to him in two days, and although he wasn't certain what Jim's problem was with _him_ , he sure as hell couldn't forget the pain to which he'd fallen asleep two nights ago. 

"Fine. I don't know nothin'." 

They'd all said the same thing, and Blair rolled his eyes at Jim. "Be that as it may, we'd like to ask you a few questions. Have you heard anyone at school talking about making explosives or about people who may be involved with making explosives?" 

"No. Can I go now?" 

Jim appeared next to the boy, towering over him with crossed arms. "Cool your jets, junior. You go when we _tell_ you to go." 

To Blair's surprise, Shawn laughed, darkening Jim's mood even further. 

"Care to tell me what's so funny?" 

"Nothing. Just...I heard that you can't even keep it up in the bedroom, if you know what I mean." 

Blair blinked up at Jim, frowning, then back to Shawn who was obviously trying to keep his maddening smirk in check. That had definitely been a strange thing for the kid to say. There was no possible way for him to know something like that and to say it to Jim, who had to be the most masculine, sexually confident person he knew...it made no sense. He bit back the urge to blurt, "yeah, right!" and said nothing the way that he knew Jim would. It was one of the most useful things that he'd learned in his years with Jim--the ability to say nothing, do nothing, and appear completely unruffled in the face of someone who got under his skin. 

"Want to tell us why your science teacher caught you sneaking four beakers out of the classroom last week?" 

Shawn shifted then shrugged. "'Cause he's a loser with nothing better to do than spy on my ass." 

"Riiight." Jim scribbled something down on his paper, then gave the now uneasy kid a friendly smile. Blair observed his partner with the same degree of admiration as always. Jim handled every aspect of a case so expertly, playing the witnesses, victims and perps alike with the same finesse until he got exactly what he needed. Unfortunately, where he usually ran into trouble was with the dangerous women. 

And as usual, he was right on target about the kid's reaction. "What are you writing?" he demanded. "Man, that is such bullshit! I wasn't doing anything with those beakers. It was just a stupid dare." 

Jim pretended to think about this for a few seconds. "Yeah, it couldn't been a dare. But you also could've wanted them for other reasons." 

"I know the cops don't care anything about some lousy beakers." 

"That's very astute of you," Jim commended. "Would you like to hear what we _do_ care about?" He didn't wait for an answer, just leaned forward and whispered, "Arson. Vandalism. Murder. Attempted Murder." The effect was just what he'd desired. His words left the kid pale and silent, unable to look away. Blair stared at Jim, equally transfixed on the detective's menacing expression. 

No one said anything for long moments until Jim jerked a thumb toward the door. "You're done here. Thank you for your cooperation." 

When the student was safely out of the room, Jim stared at Blair for a long time, as though taking measure of something--or using his senses. 

"There's a teacher involved, Chief." 

"Really? Wow." Blair sat back, thinking over the interview with the kid. Had he missed something? 

"Yeah. That smart-assed comment he made about me...you know...in the bedroom." He coughed, a nervous sound, a bizarre mixture of embarrassed and angry. "I slept with Karen. Miss Jacobs." 

Duh. Blair nodded and tried to disguise the fact that this conversation was starting to stir up prickly feelings in his stomach. "So?" He feigned nonchalance. 

"So...there's no way he could've known that information unless she _told_ him. Or told somebody he knows." 

"But-" The argument dropped from his lips in an extraordinary act of self-preservation. He'd been about to argue that from where he'd lain, it'd sounded like Jim had no trouble getting it up whatsoever. But that would insinuate that he'd been listening in on an intimate moment. Which he had been. "So you really couldn't get it up? 

"Of _course_ I could!" Jim said, too loudly. He looked away. He'd never talked much about sex stuff with Sandburg, but now- after what had happened in Paris, there was a new, dangerous aspect to the topic. "It's just..." 

"You zoned out?" 

"No! Look Sandburg, this is going to be uncomfortable for us to talk about, but I don't see any way around it if we're gonna work this case together." He forced himself to look directly at those worried blue eyes, but no force was needed to fuel the gentle smile he gave in reassurance. "When I was with Karen...I heard you. In your room." 

"Heard me?" That night's awful events came back, reincarnated as a rush of humiliation. "Jim..." Hot and cold flashes of shock ran through his blood and ultimately ended up in his face--bright red and burning. "Jim, I--" finally, his thoughts coalesced into a rational thought. "You dialed up!" he accused. 

"What do you mean?" 

"You...I was _so_ quiet, Jim. There was no way you could've heard anything--especially when you're doing _that_ , geez, didn't you have something better to do at the moment than listen to me? And you dialed up!" 

"I..." It honestly hadn't occurred to Jim that he'd been doing something inappropriate by dialing up. But it hadn't been like that, he'd only been looking further into a sound that'd caught his attention. Right? 

"God, Jim! Do you have any idea how I feel about having my privacy violated like that?" In a series of jerky, shocky movements, Blair gathered his belongings and stood, pushing back the chair. It was too humiliating to be here right now. 

Jim shot to his feet and blocked his partner's exit. "Wait, let's just finish this conversation. I was going to tell you what happened." He spoke quickly to keep Blair listening. "After I heard you, I just...couldn't do it. Karen wasn't happy about it, seeing how we were right in the middle of things, but I never thought she'd go and tell a bunch of _kids_ about it." 

"Unless she's the one we're looking for. You said yourself that they thought an adult might be helping them obtain the materials and information." 

Jim looked so stricken at that thought, Blair laughed, a bitter sound. 

"Boy, you sure know how to pick 'em, don't you, Jim?," he scoffed, and slung his backpack over a shoulder. " _One_ criminally minded woman in the entire building and you end up with your hand in her panties. Why am I _so_ not surprised." 

"When she was gone I wanted to apologize, but you were already asleep." He continued as though Blair hadn't just slammed him with an insult so true and so personal that anyone else who would've dared would've found themselves flat on the ground. "And I _am_ , Blair. Sorry. I wasn't gonna ask her in but she- she-" 

"Hey," Blair held up his hands in a sign of surrender. "No explanations needed, I've seen her legs. But Jim, I really need to not be here with you right now. I tell you what. I'm gonna go see what I can get from Ms. Jacobs because you probably...shouldn't. Then I'll be at the station for the rest of the afternoon, and we'll compare notes when we get home." 

Jim nodded unhappily; he wasn't nuts about going through the rest of the day's interviews alone, but at least he could vent a little frustration on the more quarrelsome students. The thought gave him some degree of satisfaction. 

"And Jim?" Blair turned on his way out. "Take it easy on the kids." 

Damn it. 

* * *

"Ms. Jacobs?" Blair did a nearly perfect simulation of Jim's quick-badge flash before approaching the petite woman in the teacher's lounge. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" She obviously _did_ mind, judging by her annoyed expression and the stack of papers that she was trying to grade. Ha. Too bad, lady, he thought, then imagined himself slapping cold metal cuffs on her petite wrists. 

And he'd thought that _Jim_ couldn't objectively question her? 

"I don't have very long," she cautioned, glancing at the clock. 

"It shouldn't take very long," he assured her, then watched her face when he added, "Depending on the answers you give me." At least she had the sense to get nervous. 

"Are you acquainted with a student named Shawn Hartz?" 

She seemed to be genuinely considering this question. "No...." she replied, then more confidently. "No. Sorry." 

He switched tactics. "Really? It's funny, because I just finished questioning Shawn, and he came out with some pretty elaborate details about you and _Detective_ Ellison's date." 

It was really a shame to see her pretty face all screwed up with indignation and horror while she recalled the events of the date, but Blair just waited patiently. Most people tended to hang themselves if you only gave them the chance. While he was waiting, he pondered what it could be that drew Jim toward the more dangerous women. Their looks, their confidence...maybe they exuded some kind of irresistible scent that Jim responded to. Thinking about it only made Blair more depressed, so he turned his attention back to Karen. 

"I don't know him," she repeated. "It's true." 

"How do you think that a high school student would know so much about what you did Monday night then, Ms. Jacobs. 

The mention of Monday night had her blushing now, and he remembered her moans of enjoyment before he'd blocked them out. _Ha_ , he thought again. Before he'd effectively albeit unknowingly ruined her good time. 

"This...this is embarrassing," she said quietly, looking down into her lap. He nodded. Definitely embarrassing. For her, at least. "But...well, you know how it is. I'm sure that you have friends that you share the details of your life with. I always end up telling Danny everything. He's a good listener and we've been friends since high school." 

"Danny?" Blair blinked. He'd been so certain that this shy English teacher was single-handedly supplying the entire student body with explosives that he hadn't considered that there could be another party involved and that she might be--just a nice lady. 

"Danny Jenkins. He's the American History teacher...room 224. He's the only person I told, I swear!" Her face was even redder now, with betrayal and confusion as well as the embarrassment of having to admit what'd happened. "I can't imagine him telling anyone, though..." 

"Was anyone nearby when you were discussing this with Mr. Jenkins?" 

"No! I mean, I wouldn't want anyone else to know..." she couldn't seem to finish a thought. 

Blair marveled at his own composure. Inside, he felt a million conflicting emotions about this woman and this case. Jealousy, loss, confusion, hostility...but on the surface, all that anyone would see was a Detective calmly asking a few questions, writing down the answers. 

"Is it possible for someone to have been hiding or listening in to your conversation?" 

"I really doubt it," she admitted quietly. "I was careful." A shaky hand wiped at her forehead. "Can I use the restroom now?" 

"Go ahead. We're done here, thanks for your time." 

* * *

Danny Jenkins wasn't at all what Blair had suspected. When Karen had said that they'd been friends since high school, she'd neglected to mention that Mr. Jenkins could've very well been one of her high school _teachers_. Silver-haired and in his mid-forties, Daniel Jenkins appeared out of place in the crowded classroom, too distinguished to be among the street clothes and hefty attitudes of the youth. 

He didn't seem at all reluctant to talk with Blair, though, and they ended up going off campus to a nearby coffee shop to talk. 

The coffee was still too scalding to drink when Daniel casually remarked, "You and I have something in common." 

Blair suddenly realized that he had never questioned an important witness without Jim. Having the authority to do it and actually _doing_ it were different things, but Jim would approve of his last minute decision. Still, it was nice to have the benefit of Sentinel senses during an interview. 

"We do?" He smiled at the older man in amusement. There was something incredibly engaging about Daniel, and he did feel a certain kinship. 

"We've both been expelled from employment at the fine establishment of Rainier University." He stirred his coffee as though he hadn't just shaken Blair down to his core. _No one_ mentioned the dissertation. It just wasn't done. 

"Is that right?" He wrapped his hand around the too-hot cup, taking comfort in the burn of against his fingers. He didn't know what to say, but luckily, Daniel liked doing the talking. 

"I taught in the Chemistry department. _Professor_ Jenkins," he motioned grandly, waiting for Blair's reaction. "Chancellor Edwards and I had an ongoing agreement to disagree until finally, she backed me into a corner and I had no choice but to resign." 

"And now you teach high school History." Blair didn't try to hide his puzzlement over the transition. 

"And now you're a cop." Jenkins successfully pointed out that Anthropologist to Detective didn't make much sense to outsiders, either. He smiled again, liking the teacher even more. Which reminded him of why they were there. 

"You're probably wondering why I asked you here," he began. 

"Not at all. I know that you and Detective Ellison have been questioning everyone around school." 

"Yes, that's true, but I came to you specifically to ask about Karen Jacobs and a student by the name of Shawn Hartz. Detective Ellison and I were surprised when this student revealed intimate details of Karen and Jim's..." he stumbled over his words, hoping that no one could know the relevance of this to him, and how he felt having everyone know parts of Jim that he would _never_ know. 

"Ahhh, that." Daniel nodded. 

"Karen said that you were the only one that she confided in." 

"I wouldn't know about that. But she did talk to me about the rather disastrous date. She was offended, as you can imagine." He smirked politely, and the mirth was catching. Official business or not, it did feel rather ridiculous to sit here discussing the sex life of their friends. 

Blair shook his head, and lowered it to cover his grin. His hair fell forward and Daniel said, 

"You didn't cut your hair. I commend you on keeping your identity after you lost such a big part of it." 

Suspicious blue eyes rose to meet this observation. "I only got what I deserved." He knew the lines well and could recite them now without feeling the wrench of regret. Almost. 

"I see. Well, starting over is difficult, and you've done an excellent job. Many people would be surprised to find that you're still with Detective Ellison." 

"Um, well." It was hard to know what the right words were, when he wasn't even sure what Daniel was saying. He settled on, "Speaking of Jim, can you remember if anyone was nearby when you were discussing him with Karen?" 

"I don't think so. It was a private conversation." 

"And you didn't share this information with any students?" 

"This is hardly the kind of thing that one would discuss with a student." 

"I know. But I'm going to need a negative or affirmative answer, please." 

"No. Of course not. I didn't tell anyone." 

"Okay." He paused, sipping his coffee while he tried to remember if there was anything else he needed to ask. "Do you know Shawn Hartz?" 

"Yes." 

"In what capacity?" 

"He's one of my students. Sometimes I have him in detention." He shrugged. "Pretty good kid. Too much attitude, of course, but he gets good grades." 

Blair would've liked more than anything to have a great theory or at least a hard opinion when they met to compare notes, but the truth was that Blair felt he'd gotten nowhere. Karen Jacobs and Daniel Jenkins _both_ seemed innocent, no matter how much he would've loved to see the back of Karen's head in the backseat of a squad car, growing smaller and smaller as they drove her away. 

He really needed to get a grip. _Be professional,_ he reminded himself, but then replayed the fantasy, only this time with himself at the wheel. 

* * *

Jim was already at the loft when Blair got there, and their apologizes collided as soon as they opened their mouths. 

"Jim-" Blair blurted, while Jim struggled with a reluctant, 

"Blair-" and they laughed together, grateful that there wasn't any need for further discussion. 

Another thing that they had in common was that they'd gotten nowhere. Jim gave Blair a brief summary of how he'd questioned fifteen other teenagers and none of them had given anything up, except the fact that Randall Hoult had a huge chip on his shoulder and probably deserved to be injured. 

"Nice," Blair remarked dryly. He flopped down on the couch, stretching his legs out across the cushions. 

"Yeah. They said that he had a lot of enemies and that he'd been angry with everyone and everything for the past couple of months...so he could've been setting up that bomb for anyone." 

"Did you hear anyone mention a Daniel Jenkins?" 

"Mr. Jenkins? Why?" 

"What did you hear?" 

"One of the girls said just said that he and Shawn Holtz were pretty tight. Someone also mentioned that Shawn and Randall used to be the best of friends until recently. Nothing concrete, though." 

"I talked to Daniel Jenkins today, at that coffee shop off campus that we stopped at last week. Karen says that the only person she told about you was Mr. Jenkins, and he says that he didn't tell anyone at all. So one of them is lying." 

"Unless someone overheard. And why the fuck would she tell that guy?" 

"Jealous?" Blair couldn't resist. He hoped that the answer was no; this woman was _so_ not worth getting all hung up about. 

Jim scooted Blair's feet out of the way and sat at the very end of the couch. "No," he growled. "But I thought that was the kind of thing that women tell their girlfriends." 

"And gay men," Blair pointed out. It had just occurred to him. "A lot of women do that." 

"You think he's gay?" 

"No," he replied. "I would have no way of knowing that. Besides," he added. "Megan tells me stuff sometimes." 

Jim gave Blair a long look, no doubt contemplating the mystery of gaydar and whether or not Blair had it. 

"So...why were you having coffee with him? He's a suspect." 

"So is Karen!" 

"Yeah," Jim pointed out, "But she wouldn't be a suspect if I hadn't gone out with her." 

"And this makes you a hero _how_?" Blair laughed and shoved against Jim's leg with his socked foot. "You figure that so long as she's in your bed, she won't be out making mailbox bombs?" 

"Ha ha. I'm glad you're so chipper. You wouldn't be, you know, if you'd spent the rest of the afternoon with those kids like I did. And I've never smelled anything on her...no chemicals or guilt or anything like that." As embarrassing as everything had turned out, he was glad that Blair wasn't angry anymore. Karen had turned out to be a huge mistake, not worth the trouble at all. He'd realized today that if he'd been _that_ into making love with her, he never would've heard Blair at all, but he didn't see any reason to share that revelation with his partner. 

It fell quiet after that, and the two men sat relaxing on the couch, letting the tension of the day fade away. It was easier than most people thought to leave the cases behind when they came home; just a matter of separating work and their own lives in their minds. 

The thing that they were both having trouble leaving behind was the second ordeal with Lash. It haunted Jim's dreams at night and taunted Blair's consciousness during the waking hours. Two different types of torture, two different reactions. 

"Jim." 

Jim raised his head from the back of the couch where he'd let it fall. Blair's eyes were still closed, his body limp and exhausted. They'd pushed Simon to get them back on active duty right away, unable to cope with the quiet time alone together in the loft. Simon had thought that this case would be the best way to go. 'Low-key', he'd said. It still took its toll, evident in Blair's weary posture. 

"Yeah?" he replied, trying to gather some energy. 

"Does it feel weird to you sometimes? To be back here, and everything's the same? Sometimes I feel like that _prison_ Lash had us in was normal and _this_ is the new environment. Like I just keep waiting to go back there or something." 

Jim sucked in a startled breath. He'd known Blair to be insightful, but there were things that Blair sometimes hit on, things from the furthest depths of Jim's psyche that he'd never thought anyone could understand. 

"That's how I felt when I got back from Peru," he said quietly. The words came out with that hoarse quality that marked a deeply personal revelation. 

Blair roused with interest, sitting and drawing his knees up to his chin. "I can imagine. No, I can't. I guess that twenty nine days isn't anything compared to eighteen months." 

"You know as well as I do that time stops meaning anything, Chief. And I feel like that too, sometimes, if it makes you feel any better." He placed a sympathetic hand on Blair's knee, and Blair did the same, curling sturdy, surprisingly soft fingers around his own. 

_that hand has stroked my penis_ , came the unbidden thought. _that hand almost made me come._

"Really? Well, it's sort of freaking me out," Blair admitted, eager to share in his troubles. "The other day, I started to make my bed real quick after I woke up because, you know, he always got mad--" Jim nodded, so he skipped the details and continued. "And then I was like, 'what the hell am I doing??' you know? He's not here, he's _dead_ and it's my room and...I feel like it's just with me all the time." He shivered, even with the heat of Jim's hand under his own. 

"It'll get better. I promise." 

It occurred to Jim that he possessed a tool greater than words to help the healing process along. His arms had proven to work wonders on Blair's morale during the kidnapping. The way Blair's hands curled around his biceps with such restrained hunger, so grateful and willing to receive...he shook off the memory. 

Of course Blair had accepted the contact eagerly...he'd admitted to Jim's face that he loved him. Was _in love_ with him. What did that mean? Blair's explanation had left him reeling and still confused, because it was nearly impossible to believe. 

Adding to the misery of the situation was the fact that Blair wasn't the only one having trouble shaking off the reality of their nightmare. He found himself plagued with guilt over the way he and Blair had come together so wantonly. 

Touched briefly by the memory, he jerked his hand away from Blair's. This was wrong, Lash had known it and his own _real_ father had known it, even Bud had stressed the malevolence of these things. Everyone knew it, so why didn't Blair? 

"Um. So, are you hungry?" Blair's eyes displayed his hurt at the abrupt action. That wasn't what he'd wanted, to hurt Blair. How could he have gone from wanting to help Blair to pushing him away in the space of twenty seconds? 

He wanted to go back, to return his hand to its former position and put that soft look back on Blair's face, but his partner had moved, swung his feet back onto the floor and even if he hadn't, the moment was gone. 

He wanted it back. 

"Sandburg." He didn't know how to say what was in his heart, but he could say _something._

"What?" Blair prompted. His hopeful, gentle tone suggested that he was willing to remain in the moment, if Jim would just give him a reason. 

"I'm sorry." 

"For what, Jim?" It did something to him, right in his chest to see the way that Blair's preexisting worry for him flickered on and off, daily. 

"I really thought you were asleep, that night." 

"I know. But you don't have to apologize for...for wanting to do what you've always done. I'm _glad_ that you've found someone to have a good time with." 

He turned a piercing eye on Blair. "No you're not." 

"Okay, uh, y-you've got me." Blair stuttered, and hopped up from the couch. "So, _do_ you want something to eat?" His words were empty tokens, though, something to fill the space until he could put some distance between himself and his roommate. "You know, on second thought, I don't feel so good... I think I'll just hit the sack, then." 

He didn't wait for Jim's answer, and Jim watched him retreat to the bedroom, the door suddenly seeming so much stronger than mere wood and glass. 

* * *

Randall Hoult had been surly the first time they'd interviewed him, with his parents present, he displayed unbearable levels of hostility. 

It'd been Jim's idea to question some of the bigger suspects with their parents present; shake them up a bit, and Blair had agreed, impressed with Jim's suggestion. Blair sat across from the boy, with Jim standing behind his partner and Mr. And Mrs. Hoult behind their son. It was hard to judge from their behavior whether they were there to support or condemn him. 

"What can you tell me about Shawn Hartz?" Jim asked. 

Randall rolled his eyes and slouched down in his chair. "Nothin'" he mumbled. 

The parents exchanged worried glances, Mrs. Hoult's heart speeding up beneath her cashmere sweater. 

"Mrs. Hoult?" Jim folded his arms across his chest. "Is there anything you can tell me about Shawn?" 

"Uh, n-no." She glanced nervously at her husband, who was giving her a sharp look. Warning her. 

"Isn't that interesting, Chief?" He and Blair shared false smiles of amusement. "Shawn Hartz spent the night at the Hoult's home nearly every weekend for the past two years, but Mrs. Hoult can't tell us anything about the kid." 

"Yeah, interesting, Jim." Blair said flatly. Normally, he'd jump in at Jim's cue, hamming things up for the suspects, but his heart wasn't in it today. "In fact, it's so interesting that maybe we should take them into the _station_ so they can tell it one more time for Captain Banks." 

"This is bullshit!" Randall slammed an angry fist down on the tabletop, startling his already jumpy mother. "Me and Shawn _used_ to be friends. Past tense." 

Blair studied the family, puzzled. His instincts said that there was something here, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. Everyone knew that the two boys had been friends, so what was the big secret? It was also common knowledge that Randall had been messing around with explosives...he was on probation as well as the telling bandage in the place where his hand used to be. 

"Enough, Randy." Mr. Hoult finally stepped in, turning cold eyes on Jim. But the Sentinel could see the fear behind the anger. "What exactly are you asking about Shawn? He's a burnout, a pervert, a dangerous hoodlum." 

"Fuck you," Randall burst out, suddenly upset. Not belligerent-troublemaker upset, but more of a hurt-kid upset. He glared at his father resentfully. "He's not any of those things." 

Jim blinked. This seemed to be an exchange between father and son, and he had no idea what it was all about. The only positive thing was that Blair was also looking from Mr. Hoult to Randall in confusion. He wasn't alone in his cluelessness. 

"Andrew, don't." Mrs. Hoult's nervousness hit an all-time high and she stepped between her husband and son. "This is _family_ business. Not here." 

"We wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you," Randall accused his father, whose face had turned bright red. He loosened his tie, clearly uncomfortable. "If Shawn and I were still friends, he would've been there that day and I wouldn't have blown my hand off! He would've been there to keep an eye on the temperature, but he _wasn't_ there because you sent him away!" His words came quickly, passionately, like someone who'd been keeping too many things inside for far too long. 

"Keep your mouth shut!" Mr. Hoult had up until now kept up the faade of being a composed, high-brow individual. The mention of Shawn Hartz, however, snapped that calm demeanor in an instant. His rage was directed first at his son, then at Jim, the cause of this family turmoil. 

"You shouldn't go asking about things that are none of your business! You want to know the truth? Fine. I'll tell you. A few months ago I come home and find these two perverts fooling around in the basement, two _boys_ , acting like they're a couple. What was I supposed to do. What do you think about _that_ , Detective Ellison? Is that what you're after, the disgusting truth about my son? As far as we're concerned, Shawn Hartz doesn't exist." 

Jim took a step back, feeling the familiar buzz of unreality. The room swam before his eyes and for a second he was back in that room in Paris. " _Pervert_ , _disgusting_ , _two boys_ , he heard David Lash spitting with hatred. 

"Jim?" Blair's hand was on his back, and he recognized the feeling of the cool wall against his forehead. In the background were the Hoults murmured accusations about the results of their ugly confession. 

"He can't even look at you!" Mrs. Hoult whispered in horror. "You didn't have to tell him anything." 

"He's a detective, he would've found out eventually. How long did it take for the entire town to find out about Randy's hand?" 

"Come on man," Jim heard Blair whispering over his shoulder. "I know this is weird for you--for _us_ , but pull yourself out of it. We're at the school, you're doing an interview." He knew that Blair was right, but he was lost in a sensory memory triggered by words. And the fear, shame and confusion that Lash had created were all there in his head, bright, loud and overwhelming. 

"Okay," he rasped out. Christ, this was worse than the time he'd zoned on the bell. Only, he wasn't zoning, but having some kind of nervous breakdown. The shrink that he and Blair had been ordered to see after the kidnapping hadn't pushed things, had let Jim decide that he wasn't in need of counseling. The funny thing was, he'd pushed Blair into seeing the guy, worried that something like this might happen...to _Blair_. To sensitive, sympathetic Blair. Not to him. 

"I've got it," he insisted. "I'm fine. Sorry." When he turned back around, carefully concealing the shaking he felt in his guts, the Hoults were still arguing. 

"We only have a few more questions, and then you can go. And it would probably help the process along if you keep any comments to yourself." Blair smoothly took over, giving Jim a chance to recover. "I'm going to ask you again if you had anything to do with the bomb in the locker room two weeks ago." 

" _No_." Randall had reached new heights of surliness, probably brought on by his father's cutting comments. "Ask Shawn. I'll bet he and his buddy Mr. Jenkins know all about it." 

"You have reason to believe that Shawn or Mr. Jenkins had something to do with that?" 

A shrug. 

"Did Mr. Jenkins give you and Shawn advice or actual materials to make explosives?" 

"I told you, no." 

Blair looked from Jim, who was looking at the floor, to Mrs. Hoult shuffling her feet by the wall, to angry red-faced Mr. Hoult who was occupied with compulsively checking his watch. He sighed, feeling exhausted even though it was only two o'clock. 

"I think we're finished here. Thank you for coming." 

* * *

"So, why does it always seem to come back to these two kids and Mr. Jenkins?" Jim asked later that day, pulling up a chair at Blair's desk. The desk was covered with notes on their many interviews, and he tapped his fingers with Shawn Hartz's evasive responses on it. 

"Did you gentlemen get anything today?" Simon approached them with a faux-patient smile. They'd been on this for two weeks now with no hard information, and while he wouldn't even think about putting them back on anything more strenuous for the time being, the principal, superintendent and police Chief were getting impatient. 

"A couple dozen of people who swear it's Hartz and Hoult, a few kids _and_ a faculty member who mentioned Mr. Jenkins' affinity for explosives, but nothing whatsoever to back it up with. Not even enough for a search warrant." 

Simon grunted and moved on, nodding his understanding. "Keep me updated." 

Jim looked up from his notes. "What kind of vibes did you get from Jenkins?" 

"I dunno. He was sort of...sneaky, I guess." His voice turned hard. "But then again, I'm probably basing that on the fact that he was fired from Rainier. After all, if the esteemed Rainier University finds you lacking in morals, you must be, right?" 

"Sandburg..." 

"No, it's okay. It's the truth. What a hypocrite, right? Even with my history, he tells me that they let him go and my first instinct? That he's a loser. At least now I can't blame the people who won't have anything to do with me anymore." 

Jim studied his partner, until he seemed satisfied with what he saw, that maybe Blair wasn't falling into the kind of depression that he'd fallen into when the dissertation thing first happened. "Okay," he sighed, a light hand rubbing the base of Blair's neck. 

"Ow, hair," Blair complained, but was secretly pleased by the effort. Jim might be disgusted about what happened in Paris, but not to the point of being scared off of the friendship. 

"I can't believe these kids," Jim mused. "They're only doing that shit because they're bored, I _know_ it. What they need are some extra-curricular activities." 

Blair was bristling with indignation before Jim could even blink. "Oh, that is just rich, Ellison. They were bored, didn't have anything better to do, of course. They were best friends, they spent every minute together for the past two years, didn't you listen to the people we interviewed?" His eyes had brightened to the point of blazing. "They cared about one another, Jim, I don't have any doubt about that, and if you think that the only reason two boys would be lovers is because of _boredom_ , then you have a fucking problem." 

He regarded Blair coolly, offended. "I was talking about their bomb-making, not their love life. Quit taking this so personally, Sandburg." 

Oh, Blair thought, mortified and at the same time relieved. He knew as well as anyone that he was projecting his own feelings onto this situation, but that didn't stop him from wanting. He wanted so much. Wanted to know what the _real_ story was with the two boys, wanted Jim to touch him again, wanted to never lay eyes on Jenkins again, and Karen for that matter. Simon had been right---this case, as small-time as it was, was too much for him on top of what he and Jim had just been through. Had it really been only three weeks that they'd been back? Felt more like years, yet at times he found himself longing to be back in that tiny bed with Jim, huddled together under the pretense of survival. 

"Oh," he said. "sorry. I thought you were..." 

"I know. It's okay. This case is...it's hitting home for me, too." It had to be hard for Jim to admit that, to acknowledge what had happened and the parallels between their situation and Randall and his cruel father. 

Blair had brought his seat over closer to Jim's, their heads bent together for privacy. "What were you thinking back at the school? When you zoned or whatever." 

"I didn't zone. It was- you didn't notice anything about Mr. Hoult? The stuff he said, he sounded- he was just like..." 

"He sounded like Lash," Blair agreed in a whisper. "I thought so, too. It creeped me out but it seems like it really shook you up." Jim's face was bent closely to his, close enough to get a good look at every tiny detail, the lines around his eyes, the curve of his lips, the uncharacteristic pallor. "Maybe...maybe Simon was right. It's too soon. Maybe we should just hand this case over to someone else, take some time to get rid of all this stuff in our heads." 

"No. This case is a cake walk. There hasn't even been a crime committed, Sandburg. Hell, we might as well be walking around wearing that big McGruff costume for all the difficulty of the case. We'll finish it up, then take some time." 

"Whatever you want." 

"If you want, I can finish on my own," he offered, praying that Blair wouldn't say yes. 

"No, no, you're right. This is pretty simple. I just wish we could...I dunno. Find a couple smartassed kids to drag to the principal's office and be through with it." 

"I know what you mean." 

"Wanna go check out Hoult's house...search his room?" 

"Please," Jim snorted, and leaned back in his chair. He rubbed a hand over his weary eyes. "His parents wouldn't let us in without a warrant, I'm pretty sure. Even though he blew off his hand, they'd still rather he was messing around with explosives than messing around with that Hartz kid, if you know what I mean." 

"I _know_ what you mean, Jim," Blair said irritably. "Thanks for pointing that out." 

"What are you mad about?" 

"I'm not mad. Let's just...can we just get on with this? Why don't we just _go_ on over to the Hoult's house, and _find_ the evidence. The sooner this stupidass excuse for a case is over, the better." 

Jim sighed; trapped. He could stop and try to work things out with Sandburg now, in a gut-wrenching, embarrassing, lengthy conversation, or he could just try to get through this and deal with it when they got home. The personal stuff could wait. 

"Let's go." 

* * *

"Wow, this is awesome. I can't believe how well I can hear. Almost as well as you, I'll bet...but without the danger of zoning." Blair adjusted the headphones, nestling them snugly into his ears. "I can't believe they let you check these out for such a low-priority case." 

_They didn't_ , Jim thought, watching Sandburg focus on hearing inside the house. But Sandburg didn't need to know that. They were parked on the street, far enough away as to not arouse any suspicion, but so far Randall was the only one home, and he wasn't doing anything illegal unless you wanted to count the obscene amount of television he'd been watching. 

"Ugh. Okay, there are some things we just don't need to hear," Blair groaned, pulling the headphones down around his neck. He looked over at Jim. "Guess you dial down for that kinda stuff, huh." 

He didn't answer. "Look." A quick, solid shadow slipped behind the side of the house. "Somebody's over there." 

"Did you see who?" leaned over Jim toward the window, ignoring his annoyed expression. "I didn't see. Lemme put these back on." He replaced the headphones and settled back on the seat near Jim, one leg on either side of the gearshift and separating island. "Next time, I'm driving," he muttered. 

The device picked up a knock, then the scuffling of feet, a door slamming. 

"What took you so long?" 

"Had to finish my homework." 

"I thought your parents were gone." 

"Yeah, but they're having the housekeeper check it for me." 

Muted laughter. "That's so lame." 

"I saw you get pulled out of fifth period by those detectives." 

"Yeah, my parents were there, too, the assholes. My dad told 'em about me and you." 

"Who cares? Those losers...Ms. Jacobs said that the old one's the worst lay she's ever had." 

"How do you know?" 

"Mr. Jenkins told me." 

"Man, I wish you'd quit hanging around that asshole, Shawn." 

"What do you care?" 

"I care." 

Jim rolled his eyes. He had a vaguely sinking feeling in his gut, like the only things that he and Blair might learn tonight were things that they weren't quite ready to know. Blair was smiling, still enthralled with the high-tech surveillance equipment they'd "borrowed" from narcotics. 

"No, you don't, you only care what your parents think." 

"That's not true! That scum-sucking prick was the reason I nearly got blown to bits. He said that it was _easy_ , and I think that the stuff he gave us was unstable. The people at the hospital told me that if you try to make nitroglycerine, you'll probably end up either dead or maimed. He knew it all along, too, he had to." 

"I didn't know." 

Blair raised an eyebrow during the following silence. These were the same two kids who claimed to know nothing but their own names? 

"I know. Want a beer?" 

Apparently it was the right thing to say because Shawn stopped complaining and for a while, the only sounds coming from the house were soft slurps and swallowing, an occasional belch, and the repeated flipping through of channels in the television. 

Blair's eyes had drifted shut to better concentrate, and Jim settled into the corner of the seat, getting comfortable. 

A good while later, Shawn said, "Besides, Mr. Jenkins taught me how to make nitrocellulose." 

"What?" 

"Guncotton. It burns faster than that black powder we stole from your dad." 

"I don't know." 

"What's to know?" 

"look at me, Shawn!" Jim cringed. He could imagine the boy waving his stump in front of his friend. "I got hurt, I don't wanna mess with that shit anymore." 

Uncertainly, "it was your idea." 

"I know. But...maybe we should just quit." 

There was a long pause, and Blair wondered if the equipment had stopped transmitting, but then Shawn said, in a tone so subdued and completely at odds with the arrogance he'd always displayed during questioning- "I thought it was what you wanted. I just wanted to do something together, it doesn't have to be that." 

"Me, too. We could..." 

Breathlessly, "What about your parents?" 

"They're gone until at least eleven. C'mere." 

A whispered, "I missed you," and then Blair's ears were filled with the hushed rustling of an embrace, close breathing and the quiet, wet sounds of kissing. The gentleness of it all surprised him...his dislike of the two boys and their difficult attitudes had shaped his view of their motives for being together. For some reason, he'd expected more of a rough tumble on the floor, heavy breathing and traded insults rather than this soft buildup of passion. 

Jim had been gentle, too. In Cincinnati and at the loft before they'd left, Jim had been soft and loving, so willing to touch and be touched-- but only in friendship. Blair swallowed, giving into the ache that accompanied longing for just a moment before turning to his partner. 

Jim still seemed annoyed more than anything, as though having to listen to two teenagers making out were along the same lines as waiting at a too-long stoplight. He looked away from Blair's inquiring gaze. 

"I don't think they're gonna be doing anything illegal tonight," Blair offered. "If you want to just-" 

"Okay." 

Throwing his leg back to his own side, Blair scooted over, carefully putting the headphones and rest of the gear back in their case. "Let's go, then. I sure wouldn't want to be here when the Hoult's get home." 

* * *

"So, what do you want to do?" Blair asked, after they'd gone home and changed clothes. He was making macaroni and cheese, stirring cups of shredded cheddar and Velveeta into the hot elbow noodles. "Can you get the Italian bread crumbs?" 

Jim grabbed the box from the cupboard and placed them within Blair's reach. "I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "I guess we can go to Principal Ennis and tell him about Jenkins. We can't exactly press charges, but it's definitely enough to get him suspended or fired." 

"Yeah, I got the impression that all they were looking for was a scapegoat, anyhow." 

"But he's not a scapegoat. He's actually guilty." 

"I know." Blair topped the dish with more cheese and put it in the oven. "You can take first shower if you want, we have thirty minutes till it's ready." 

"Okay." 

"So, if Principal Ennis is happy with what we've turned up, then tomorrow could be our last day," Blair asked when Jim emerged from the bathroom in clean sweats. He carried his socks over to the couch. 

"Looks like it." 

"Are _you_ happy with what we turned up? I mean, do you think it's enough?" He'd wanted it to be over with, but now that it was, Blair was beginning to worry that they were missing something. 

"Yeah. Aren't you? Those two kids aren't going to be blowing anything else up, and Jenkins was the one instigating in the first place. Not to mention the fact that Randall Hoult is a walking advertisement for staying away from explosives." 

Blair flipped on the oven light to check on their dinner, all the while giving Jim furtive glances. The amount of time that Jim spent in sweatpants was miniscule, with his work clothes being dress casual, and his preference for jeans on the weekends. It was a shame, too, because the man was made to wear sweats...perhaps because it was the closest thing to nudity that Blair could hope for, with the soft contouring fabric that molded itself to every rise and dip it covered. 

Blair sighed and set the timer for five more minutes. Now that it was all over, the usefulness of the case was starting to hit home; the way it had provided a distraction from his own discomfort around Jim. 

Armed with the TV Guide, he sat next to Jim on the couch, paging through to the current programs. Jim was pretty easygoing about what they watched, so he usually threw out a few suggestions and Jim would pick from those. 

"So..." 

Blair ducked his head, smiling slyly behind the magazine. That 'so' was familiar, though rare. Jim wanted to talk. 

"How's it going with that shrink you've been seeing?" 

"I've only seen him twice, Jim. But, pretty good. He sort of specializes in kidnap victims, did you know that? Of course, he has lots of other patients, because how many kidnap victims in Cascade do you think there are?" He laughed nervously and tried to slow the rambling rush of words. "It's helpful." 

"Good. So, what does he say?" 

"About what?" 

"About everything. I mean, you went through the same thing that I did, so I'm sure that I might find some of it relevant." 

"Ahh, no Jim. It doesn't work like that. Besides, two people can go through the same event and have completely different perceptions of the event." 

He was right, Jim admitted to himself. He'd spent a great deal of time since the kidnapping trying to gather recollections of every detail so that he might be able to better understand what _Blair's_ perceptions had been. What had Blair been thinking? Maybe it was part of that driving desire to always know more of Blair, but he suspected that it might be something more; a desire to better understand his _own_ eager response. The way he'd wanted Blair's touch like a remedy to a painful affliction and the way he'd lied about it later... 'I was thinking about _Sylvie_ ,' he'd said. Right. He'd barely even thought about Sylvie since she'd given him that wretched kiss off, saying 'But you were gone for so long...I had to move on.' 

"That's true." 

"Maybe you could set up your own appointment." 

"No, no..." he shook his head. "I was just curious." 

He knew he was arousing suspicion but couldn't seem to stop. And why should he, with Blair so near and such a safe, sure thing? Blair had dropped the TV Guide to listen to Jim's questions. "Curious? Are there...other things that you're 'curious' about?" 

"Yes." 

Blair's lips parted as his face suffused with heat and understanding. He knew. Jim didn't know how, but he knew. "Okay...why don't I go take my shower. When I'm done, we'll eat and you can ask anything you want." 

True to his word, once he'd showered and they were sitting in the living room with half-finished plates of macaroni and cheese, Blair settled onto the floor next to the couch and looked up at Jim. 

"So, was there something you wanted to know?" He asked, licking a smudge of cheese from the corner of his mouth. 

"I was just wondering about when Lash had us." 

Blair just nodded, and got up to turn off the kitchen light and one of the lamps. When he returned to the couch, he said, "What did you want to know?" 

Jim nodded. He could do this, and Blair clearly had a good grasp on what was going on because it was easier to talk in the semi-darkness of the room. The outside world was banished by these walls, and inside existed only the world that they made for themselves, much like in Paris. "That night. I've been thinking about it a lot. About what you were thinking...and why you did it. What would you have done if Lash hadn't come in?" 

A rush of air escaped Blair's lungs, a whoosh of possibilities. "Oh, man," he groaned softly, glancing surreptitiously up at Jim's dark profile. "The truth?" 

"The truth." 

"Well...I probably would've kept going." The confession was difficult, but Jim wasn't just doing this to use the information against him later. Jim wasn't that cruel. 

"Did you want to make me come?" 

The light shifted over Blair's face as he looked up, lips, cheekbone, brow...shimmering eyes. "Yes." 

"But... _why_ , Blair?" The question had an urgency to it, a quality that suggested he was asking Why about so much more than this particular question. 

A helpless shrug. "You were just so miserable and I wanted to make you feel good. After a while, I'll admit it became a little less than altruistic, but..." he trailed off, at a loss for a good explanation, knowing that the truth wasn't quite enough. "I'm sorry, Jim. I was wrong. I never should've taken advantage of you like that." 

"It's not that. I keep wondering how you could _think_ that it was okay? I mean, that stuff that Lash said...he was right about a lot of it." 

"What?!" Blair gaped. Jim had been confused during the kidnapping, but the doctors had assured them of no lasting side effects. "Are you crazy? We're not _brothers_ , Jim. We might feel like it sometimes, and that's a good thing. But we're not related. It wasn't sick, like he said." 

"No..." Jim agreed hesitantly, searching for a way to make Blair understand. The intimacy that they had between them was so great that adding sex into the mix...created a knot of uneasiness in his stomach. The closeness they shared was a brotherhood of sorts, he liked to think of it that way. "But we're so close, Blair. Too close, sometimes. Doesn't it scare you to think about being even closer?" 

"You mean, does it scare me to think about loving you?" 

"Yeah." 

Blair folded his hands and rested his chin there, considering Jim's state of mind. He thought about everything that had happened since he'd met his Sentinel and his life had changed forever. 

"It would if I thought that you didn't love me back." 

"But I-" _I don't_ , he wanted to say. And he knew when Blair was bluffing. There was no confidence in the shuttered face of his friend. Just anxiety, and a shred of hope. "I-I love you like a brother," he explained desperately. This would hurt Blair, so he stumbled over his words in a hurry to get them out, get it over with. "And I'll admit, sometimes I have these inappropriate thoughts, and I- I try not to." 

"Don't you hear what you're saying?" Blair jumped up, landing on the couch with Jim with a bounce. He wanted to grab Jim's shoulders and shake him until that screwed-up brain began to understand. "You want me the way I want you? It's okay! It's _not_ inappropriate because neither of us is married, related, you're not my boss and I'm not yours, the last time I checked you weren't a priest and neither am I, so we're good to go. Two people that love one another, Jim. Us. I think that the part you're having trouble with is that _one_ , Lash fucked with your head and _two_ , you don't understand that being best friends with a lover should be part of the experience, not separate. I'm willing to bet, just based this conversation that you've never become lovers with a friend, or become friends with a lover." 

"...not like this." Jim admitted. God, Blair was right. He'd been clinging so hard to his familiar beliefs that he hadn't taken time to question them, instead he'd questioned Blair, who only wanted to love him. "It's..." 

"Scary. I know. But please, you have to tell me what's going on inside your head. Your heart. There's no other way for me to know. Do you think about being with me? About touching me the way I touched you?" 

"I think about it...but I don't know if I could do it." He said honestly. He cleared his throat, a sheepish playing on his lips. "Actually, I think about it a lot." 

"Really?" Blair had to smile back. "Wow. Do you think that we could ever...try any of the things that you think about?" He knew he was pushing, but he'd wanted this for so long. He tried to remain silent and give Jim the time he needed to decide what he wanted. 

"Well," Jim said finally, looking at Blair's lips. "When we were listening to those kids tonight...What they were doing made me want to do that with you. I can't believe I'm telling you this." 

"No, no I'm glad you are. It was pretty nice, wasn't it? Just two people that love each other." 

Jim nodded, waiting for Blair. Who licked his lips nervously and moved close enough to share heat. 

"Hi," he whispered. 

Jim swallowed, closing his eyes against the wave of dizziness. He felt the cushions sink as Blair moved in, then a hand on the side of his face, turning him until his lips touched the softness of Blair's mouth. 

Strong hands held his face steady as they kissed, and Blair took it slow until Jim opened up for him, wanting to _really_ be kissed. He'd been so, so wrong. Blair's tongue licking wetly across his bottom lip didn't feel wrong because of their closeness, it felt _right_ because of it. 

"Jim," Blair breathed, and no one burst through the door to punish them. 

Emboldened, he reached out to grab a handful of curls, testing and finding it like Blair said it would be: astounding, pure, and full of freedom. 

* * *

End Next of Kin by Lily: lily2332@mindspring.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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